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A LIFE of 


WITH a Sketch ^/JOSE- 
PHINE, Empress of the 
French. Illustrated from the 
collection of NAPOLEON En- 
gravings made by the late Hon. 
G. G. Hubhard^ and now owned 
by the Congressional Libraryy 
Washington, D. C, supplemented 
by Pictures from the best French 



New York 
McClure, Phillips ^ Co. 

M. CM. I. 

Copyright, 1894, by 
S. S. McCLURE, Limited 


S. S. McCLURE, Limited 

Copyright, 1896, by 

Copyright, igoi, by 

First Imfrkssion Fkbri'ary. 1901 
Skconi) 1mi'rkssi«)n April, 1901 



- ' - J 




L Youth and Early Surroundings. — School Days at 

Brienne . . . .17 

IL In Paris. — Lieutenant of Artillery. — Literary Work. — 

The Revolution 27 

III. Robespierre. — Out of Work. — First Success . . .43 

IV. Courtship and Marriage. — Devotion to Josephine . . 53 

V. Italian Campaign. — Rules of War . . .61 

VI. Return to Paris. — Egyptian Campaign. — The i8th Bru- 

MAIRE . .89 

^ VII. Statesman and Lawgiver. — The Finances. — The In- 

^>^" dustries. — The Public Works .... 105 

VIII. Return of the £migr1§:s. — The Concordat. — Legion of 

Honor. — Code Napoleon . . .119 

IX. Opposition to the Centralization of the Govern- 
ment. — Prosperity of France .... 133 
X. Preparations for War with England. — Flotilla at Bou- 
logne. — Sale of Louisiana . . . . .143 
XI. Emperor of the French People. — King of Italy . . 151 
XII. Campaigns of 1805, 1806. 1807. — Peace of Tilsit . . 163 
XIII. Extension of Napoleon's Empire. — Family Affairs . 179 
XIV. Berlin Decree. — Peninsular War. — The Bonapartes on 

the Spanish Throne 191 

XV. Disasters in Spain. — Erfurt Meeting. — Napoleon at 

Madrid ....... 199 



XVI. Talleyrand's Treachery. — Campaign of 1809 . .211 

XVII. Divorce of Josephine. — Marriage with Marie Louise. — 

Birth of the King of Rome .... 221 

XVIII. Trouble with the Pope. — The Conscription. — The Til- 
sit Agreement Broken ..... 229 

XIX. Russian Campaign. — Burning of Moscow. — A New 

Army ........ 241 

XX. Campaign of 1813. — Campaign of 1814. — Abdication . . 253 

XXI. Elba. — The Hundred Days. — The Second Abdication . 265 

XXII. Surrender to English. — St. Helena. — Death . . 279 

XXIII. The Second Funeral . . . . .295 


I. Family. — Early Surroundings. — Alexander de Beauhar- 

NAis. — Marriage. — Separation from Husband . . 325 

II. Josephine in the Revolution. — Imprisoned at Les 

Carmes. — Struggle for Existence. — Marriage with 
Bonaparte ...... 334 

III. Bonaparte Goes to Italy. — Josephine at Milan 1796- 
1797. — Triumphal Tour in Italy. — Bonaparte Leaves 
FOR Egypt ....... 346 

IV. Bonaparte is Made First Consul. — ^Josephine's Tact in 

Public Life. — Her Personal Charm. — Malmaison . 360 

V. The Question of Succession. — Marriage of Hortense. — 
Josephine Empress of the French People. — The Coro- 
nation . . . . . .371 

VI. Etiquette Regulating Josephine's Life. — Royal Jour- 
neys. — Extravagance in Dress .... 386 

VII. Josephine not Allowed to Go to Poland. — Fear of Di- 
vorce. — The Reconciliation of 1807-1808. — ^The Cam- 
paign of 1809 AND its Effect on Napoleon . 393 



VIII. Napoleon Returns to France. — ^Josephine's Unhappi- 
NESS. — Napoleon's View of a Divorce. — The Way in 
Which the Divorce was Effected . . . .413 

IX. After the Divorce. — Navarre. — ^Josephine's Suspicions 

OF THE Emperor. — Her Gradual Return to Happiness 423 
X. Effect on Josephine of Disasters in Russia. — Anxiety 
During Campaign of 1813. — Flight from Paris. — 
Death in 1814 ...... 440 

Handwriting of Napoleon at Different Periods . . 453 

Table of the Bonaparte Family .... 464 

Chronology of the Life of Napoleon Bonaparte . . 469 

Index . . . . . • . .477 


The chief source of illustration for this volume, as in the 
case of the Napoleon papers in McClure's Magazine^ is 
the great collection of engravings of Mr. Gardiner G. Hub- 
bard, which has been generously placed at the service of the 
publishers. In order to make the illustration still more 
comprehensive, a representative of McClure's Magazine 
and an authorized agent of Mr. Hubbard visited Paris, to 
seek there whatever it might be desirable to have in the way 
of additional pictures which w^ere not within the scope of Mr. 
Hubbard's splendid collection. They secured the assistance 
of M. Armand Dayot, Inspecteur des Beaux-Arts, who pos- 
sessed rare qualifications for the task. His official position 
he owed to his familiarity with the great art collections, 
both public and private, of France, and his official duties 
made him especially familiar with the great paintings re- 
lating to French history. Besides, he was a specialist in 
Napoleonic iconography. On account of his qualifications 
and special knowledge, he had been selected by the great 
house of Hachette et Cie, to edit their book on Napoleon 
raconte par I'Image, which was the first attempt to bring 
together in one volume the most important pictures relating 
to the military, political, and private life of Napoleon. M. 
Dayot had just completed this task, and was fresh from his 
studies of Napoleonic pictures, w^hen his aid was secured by 
the publishers of McClure^s Magazine^ in supplementing 
the Hubbard collection. 

The work was prosecuted with the one aim of omitting 
no important picture. When great paintings indispensable 



to a complete pictorial life of Napoleon were found, which 
had never been either etched or engraved, photographs were 
obtained, many of these photographs being made especially 
for our use. 

A generous selection of pictures was made from the 
works of Raffet and Charlet. M. Dayot was able also to 
add a number of pictures — not less than a score — of unique 
value, through his personal relations with the owners of the 
great private Napoleonic collections. Thus were obtained 
hitherto unpublished pictures, of the highest value, from 
the collections of Monseigneur Due d'Aumale; of H. I. H., 
Prince Victor Napoleon ; of Prince Roland ; of Baron Lar- 
rey, the son of the chief surgeon of the army of Napoleon ; 
of the Duke of Bassano, son of the minister and confidant 
of the emperor; of Monsieur Edmond Taigny, the friend 
and biographer of Isabey ; of Monsieur Albert Christophle, 
Governor-General of the Credit-Foncicr of France ; of Mon- 
sieur Paul le Roux, who has perhaps the richest of the Na- 
poleonic collections ; and of Monsieur le Marquis de Gir- 
ardin, son-in-law of the Due de Gaete, the faithful Minister 
of Finance of Napoleon I. It will be easily understood that 
no doubt can be raised as to the authenticity of documents 
borrowed from such sources. 

The following letter explains fully the plan on which Mr. 
Hubbard's collection is arranged, and shows as well its ad- 
mirable completeness. It gives, too, a classification of the 
pictures into periods, which will be useful to the reader. 

Washington, October, 1894. 
S. S. McClure, Esq. 

Dear Sir: — It is about fourteen years since I became interested in 
engravings, and I have since that time made a considerable collection, 
including many portraits, generally painted and engraved during the 
life of the personage. I have from two hundred to three hundrd prints 
relating to Napoleon, his family, and his generals. The earliest of 
these is a portrait of Napoleon painted in 1791, when he was twenty- 
two years old ; the next in date was engraved m 1796. There are many 



in each subsequent year, and four prints of drawings made immediately 
after his death. 

There are few men whose characters at different periods of life are 
so distinctly marked as Napoleon's, as will appear by an examination 
of these prints. There are four of these periods: First Period. 1796- 

1797, Napoleon the General; Second Period, 1801-1804, Napoleon the 
Statesman and Lawgiver; Third Period, 1804-1812, Napoleon the Em- 
peror; Fourth Period, the Decline and Fall of Napoleon, including 
Waterloo and St. Helena. Most of these prints are contemporaneous 
with the periods described. The portraits include copies of the por- 
traits painted by the greatest painters and engraved by the best en- 
gravers of that age. There are four engravings of the paintings by 
Meissonier — " 1807," " Napoleon," ** Napoleon Reconnoitering," and . 
" 1814." 

First Period, 1796-1797, Napoleon the General. — In these the Italian 
spelling of the name, " Buonaparte," is generally adopted. At this 
period there were many French and other artists in Italy, and it would 
seem as if all were desirous of painting the young general. A French 
writer in a late number of the *' Gazette des Beaux-Arts *' is uncertain 
whether Gros, Appiani, or Cossia was the first to obtain a sitting from 
General Bonaparte. It does not matter to your readers, as portraits by 
each of these artists are included in this collection. 

There must have been other portraits or busts of Bonaparte executed 
before 1796, besides the one by Greuze given in this collection. These 
may be found, but there are no others in my collection. Of the por- 
traits of Napoleon belonging to this period eight were engraved before 

1798, one in 1800. All have the long hair falling below the ears over 
the forehead and shoulders; while all portraits subsequent to Napoleon's 
expedition to Egypt have short hair. The length of the hair affords 
an indication of the date of the portrait. 

Second Period, 1801-1804, Napoleon the Statesman and Lawgiver. — 
During this period many English artists visited Paris, and painted or 
engraved portraits of Napoleon. In these the Italian spelling " Buona- 
parte " is adopted, while in the French engravings of this period he is 
called ** Bonaparte " or " General Bonaparte." Especially noteworthy 
among them is '* The Review at the Tuileries," regarded by Masson 
as the best likeness of Napoleon '* when thirty years old and in his 
best estate." The portrait painted by Gerard in 1803, and engraved by 
Richomme, is by others considered the best of this period. There is 
already a marked change from the long and thin face in earlier por- 
traits to the round and full face of this period. In some of these prints 
the Code Napoleon is introduced as an accessory. 

Third Period, 1804-1812, Napoleon the Emperor. — He is now styled 
'; Napoleon," "Napoleon le Grand" or " L'Empereur." His chief 
painters in this period are Lefevre, Gerard, Isabey, Lupton, and David 


(with Raphael-Morghen, Longhi, Desnoycrs, engravers) — artists of 
greater merit than those of the earlier periods. The full-length por- 
trait by David has been copied oftener and is better known than any 

It has been said that we cannot in the portraits of this period, exe- 
cuted by Gerard, Isabey. and David, find a true likeness of Napoleon. 
His ministers thought ** it was necessary that the sovereign should have 
a serene expression, with a beauty almost more than human, like the 
deified Caesars or the gods of whom they were the image." " Advise 
the painters/' Napoleon wrote to Duroc, September 15, 1807, " to make 
the countenance more gracious (plutot gracieuses) ." Again, "Advise 
the painters to seek less a perfect resemblance than to give the beau 
ideal in preserving certain features and in making the likeness more 
agreeable (plutot agr cable)." 

Fourth Period, 1812-1815, Decline and Fall of Napoleon. — We have 
probably in the front and side face made by Girodet, and published 
in England, a true likeness of Napoleon. It was drawn by Girodet in 
the Chapel of the Tuileries, March 8, 1812, while Napoleon was attend- 
ing mass. It is believed to be a more truthful likeness than that by 
David, made the same year; the change in his appearance to greater 
fulness than in the portraits of 1801-1804 is here more plainly marked. 
He has now become corpulent, and his face is round and full. Two 
portraits taken in 181 5 show it even more clearly. One of these was 
taken immediately before the battle of Waterloo, and the other, by 
J. Eastlake, immediately after. Mr. Eastlake, then an art student, was 
staying at Plymouth when the '* Bellerophon " put in. He watched 
Napoleon for several days, taking sketches from which he afterwards 
made a full length portrait. 

The collection concludes with three notable prints: the first of the 
mask made by Dr. Antommarchi the day of his death, and engraved 
by Calamatta in 1834 ; another of a drawing *' made immediately after 
death by Captain Ibbetson, R. N. ;"' and the third of a drawing by Cap- 
tain Crockatt. made fourteen hours after the death of Napoleon, and 
published in London July 18. 1821. These show in a remarkable man- 
ner the head of this wonderful man. 

The larger part of these prints was purchased through Messrs. Wun- 
derlich & Co., and Messrs. Keppel of New York, some at auctions in 
Berlin, London, Amsterdam, and Stuttgart; very few in Paris. 

Gardiner G. Hubbard. 

The historical and critical notes which accompany the 
illustrations in this volume have been furnished by Mr. Hub- 
bard as a rule, though those signed A. D. come from the pen 
of M. Armand Dayot. 


The Life of Napoleon in this volume first appeared as a 
serial in Volumes III and IV of McClure's Magazine. In 
1895 on its completion in serial form it was published in 
book form, illustrated by a series of portraits from the Hub- 
bard collection which had been used in the magazine and 
by numerous other pictures drawn from the principal French 
Napoleon collections. The illustrations in the present edi- 
tion have been selected from those used in the first. The 
variety and extent of these illustrations are explained in the 
Preface to the First Edition here reproduced. The Life of 
Napoleon is supplemented in the present work by a sketch 
of Josephine. The absence of any Life of Josephine in Eng- 
lish drawn from recent historical investigations is the rea- 
son for presenting this sketch. Until within a very few 
years the first Empress of the French People has been pic- 
tured to the world as her grandson Napoleon III desired 
that she appear — a fitting type for popular adoration — more 
of a saint and a martyr than of a woman. The present 
sketch is an attempt to tell a true story of her life as it is 
revealed by the recent diligent researches of Frederic Mas- 
son and by the numerous memoirs of the periods which 
have appeared, many of them since the passing of the Second 
Empire. If the story as told here is frank, it is hoped by the 
author that it will not be found unsympathetic. 






^^M w 

^^^^B^^»lHHKt. ' w^ 

Life of Napoleon 



" 1 F I were not convinced that his family is as old and as 
I good as my own," said the Emperor of Austria when 
he married Marie Louise to Napoleon Bonaparte, 
" I would not give him my daughter." The remark is suffi- 
cient recognition of the nobility of the father of Napoleon, 
Charles Marie de Bonaparte, a gentleman of Ajaccio, Cor- 
sica, whose family, of Tuscan origin, had settled there in the 
sixteenth century, and who, in 1765, had married a young 
girl of the island. Laetitia Ramolino. 

Monsieur Bonaparte gave his wife a noble name, but 
little else. He was an indolent, pleasure-loving, chimerical 
man, who had inherited a lawsuit, and whose time was ab- 
sorbed in the hopeless task of recovering an estate of which 
the Church had taken possession. Madame Bonaparte 


brought her husband no great name, but she did bring him 
heahh, beauty, and remarkable qualities. Tall and impos- 
ing. Mademoiselle Laetitia Ramolino had a superb carriage, 
which she never lost, and a face which attracted attention 
particularly by the accentuation and perfection of its fea- 
tures. She was reserved, but of ceaseless energy and will, 
and though but fifteen when married, she conducted her 
family affairs with such good sense and firmness that she 
was able to bring up decently the eight children spared her 
from the thirteen she bore. The habits of order and econ- 
omy formed in her years of struggle became so firmly rooted 
in her character that later, when she became mater regiim, 
the ** Madame Mere " of an imperial court, she could not 
put them aside, but saved from the generous income at her 
disposal, ** for those of my children who are not yet settled,'' 
she said. Throughout her life she showed the truth of her 
son's characterization: *\\ man's head on a woman's body." 

The first years after their marriage were stormy ones for 
the Bonapartes. The Corsicans, led by the patriot Pascal 
Paoli, were in revolt against the French, at that time mas- 
ters of the island. Among Paoli's followers was Charles 
Bonaparte. He shared the fortunes of his chief to the end 
of the struggle of 1769, and when, finally, Paoli was hope- 
lessly defeated, took to the mountains. In all the dangers 
and miseries of this war tnd flight, Charles Bonaparte was 
accompanied by his wife, who, vigorous of body and brave 
of heart, suffered privations, dangers, and fatigue without 
complaint. When the Corsicans submitted, the Bonapartes 
went back to Ajaccio. Six weeks later Madame Bonaparte 
gave birth to her fourth child. Napoleon. 

** I was born," said Napoleon, ** when my country was 
perishing. Thirty thousand Frenchmen were vomited upon 
our soil. Cries of the wounded, sighs of the oppressed, 
and tears of despair surrounded my cradle at my birth." 


Young Bonaparte learned to hate with the fierceness pecu- 
liar to Corsican blood the idea of oppression, to revere Paoli, 
and, with a boy*s contempt of necessity, even to despise his 
father's submission. It was not strange. His mother had 
little time for her children's training. His father gave them 
no attention ; and Napoleon, " obstinate and curious,'' dom- 
ineering over his brothers and companions, fearing no one, 
ran wild on the beach with the sailors or over the mountains 
with the herdsmen, listening to their tales of the Corsican 
rebellion and of fights, on sea and land, imbibing their con- 
tempt for submission, their love for liberty. 

At nine years of age he was a shy, proud, wilful child, 
unkempt and untrained, little, pale, and nervous, almost 
without instruction, and yet already enamored of a soldier's 
life and conscious of a certain superiority over his comrades. 
Then it was that he was suddenly transplanted from his free 
life to an environment foreign in its language, artificial in 
its etiquette, and severe in its regulations. 

It was as a dependent, a species of charity pupil, that he 
went into this new atmosphere. Charles Bonaparte had be- 
come, in the nine years since he had abandoned the cause of 
Paoli, a thorough parasite. Like all the poor nobility of the 
country to which he had attached himself, and even like 
many of the rich in that day, he begged favors of every de- 
scription from the government in return for his support. 
To aid in securing them, he humbled himself before the 
French Governor-General of Corsica, the Count de Mar- 
boeuf, and made frequent trips, which he could ill afford, 
back and forth to Versailles. The free education of his 
children, a good office with its salary and honors, the main- 
tenance of his claims against the Jesuits, were among the 
favors which he sought. 

By dint of solicitation he had secured a place among the 
free pupils of the college at Autun for his son Joseph, the 


oldest of the family, and one for Napoleon at the military 
school at Brienne. 

To enter the school at Brienne, it was necessary to be able 
to read and write French, and to pass a preliminary exam- 
ination in that language. This young Napoleon could not 
do; indeed, he could scarcely have done as much in his 
native Italian. A preparatory school was necessary, then, 
for a time. The place settled on was Autun, where Joseph 
was to enter college, and there in January, 1779, Charles 
Bonaparte arrived with the two boys. 

Napoleon was nine and a half years old when he entered 
the school at Autun. He remained three months, and in 
that time made sufficient progress to fulfil the requirements 
at Brienne. The principal record of the boy's conduct at 
Autun comes from Abbe Chardon, who was at the head of 
the primary department. He says of his pupil : 

" Napoleon brought to Autun a sombre, thoughtful character. He 
was interested in no one. and found his amusements by himself. He 
rarely had a companion in his walks. He was quick to learn, and 
quick of apprehension in all ways. When I gave him a lesson, he fixed 
his eyes upon me with parted lips; but if I recapitulated anything 
I had said, his interest was gone, as he plainly showed by his manner. 
When reproved for this, he would answer coldly. I might almost say 
with an imperious air, * I know it already, sir.* " 

When he went to Brienne, Napoleon left his brother Jo- 
seph behind at Autun. The boy had not now one familiar 
feature in his life. The school at Brienne was made up of 
about one hundred and twenty pupils, half of whom were 
supported by the government. They were sons of nobles, 
who, generally, had little but their great names, and whose 
rule for getting on in the world was the rule of the old 
regime — secure a powerful patron, and, by flattery and ser- 
vile attentions, continue in his train. Young Bonaparte 
heard little but boasting, and saw little but vanity. His first 
lessons in French society were the doubtful ones of the para- 


site and courtier. The motto which he saw everywhere 
practised was, ** The end justifies the means/' His teach- 
ers were not strong enough men to counteract this influence. 
The military schools of France were at this time in the 
hands of religious orders, and the Minim Brothers, who had 
charge of Brienne, were principally celebrated for their 
ignorance. They certainly could not change the arrogant 
and false notions of their aristocratic young pupils. 

It was a dangerous experiment to place in such surround- 
ings a boy like the young Napoleon, proud ambitious, jeal- 
ous; lacking any healthful moral training; possessing an 
Italian indifference to truth and the rights of others; already 
conscious that he had his own way to make in the world, 
and inspired by a determination to do it. 

From the first the atmosphere at Brienne was hateful to 
the boy. His comrades were French, and it was the French 
who had subdued Corsica. They taunted him with it some- 
times, and he told them that had there been but four to one, 
Corsica would never have been conquered, but that the 
French came ten to one. When they said : ** But your fa- 
ther submitted," he said bitterly : " I shall never forgive 
him for it." As for Paoli, he told them, proudly, " He is a 
good man. I wish I could be like him." 

He had trouble with the new language. They jeered at 
him because of it. His name was strange; la paille au nez 
was the nickname they made from Napoleon. 

He was poor ; they were rich. The contemptuous treat- 
ment he received because of his poverty was such that he 
begged to be taken home. 

" My father [he wrote], if you or my protectors cannot give me the 
means of sustaining myself more honorably in the house where I am, 
please let me return home as soon as possible. I am tired of poverty 
and of the jeers of insolent scholars who are superior to me only in 
their fortune, for there is not one among them who feels one hundredth 
part of the noble sentiment which animates me. Must your son. sir, 


continually be the butt of these boobies, who, vain of the luxuries which 

they enjoy, insult me by their laughter at the privations which I am 

forced to endure? No, father, no! If fortune refuses to smile upon 

me, take me from Brienne, and make me, if you will, a mechanic. 

From these words you may judge of my despair. This letter, sir, 

please believe, is not dictated by a vain desire to enjoy extravagant 

amusements. I have no such wish. I feel simply that it is necessary 

to show my companions that I can procure them as well as they, if I 

wish to do so. 

" Your respectful and affectionate son. 

" Bonaparte." 

Charles Bonaparte, always in pursuit of pleasure and his 
inheritance, could not help his son. Napoleon made other 
attempts to escape, even offering himself, it is said, to the 
British Admiralty as a sailor, and once, at least, begging 
Monsieur de Marboeuf, the Governor-General of Corsica, 
who had aided Charles Bonaparte in securing places for both 
l)oys, to withdraw his protection. The incident w'hich led 
to this was characteristic of the school. The supercilious 
young nobles taunted him with his father's position ; it was 
nothing but that of a poor tipstaff, they said. Young Bona- 
parte, stung by what he thought an insult, attacked his tor- 
mentors, and, being caught in the act, was shut up. He im- 
mediately wrote to the Count de Marboeuf a letter of re- 
markable qualities in so young a boy and in such circum- 
stances. After explaining the incident he said : 

" Now, Monsieur le Comte, if I am guilty, if my liberty has been 
taken from me justly, have the goodness to add to the kindnesses which 
you have shown me one thing more — take me from Brienne and with- 
draw your protection : it would be robbery on my part to keep it any 
longer from one who deserves it more than I do. I shall never, sir, be 
worthier of it than I am now. I shall never cure myself of an im- 
petuosity which is all the more dangerous because I believe its mo- 
tive is sacred. Whatever idea of self-interest influences me, I shall 
never have control enough to see my father, an honorable man, dragged 
in the mud. I shall always, Monsieur le Comte, feel too deeply in 
these circumstances to limit myself to complaining to my superior. I 
shall always feel that a good son ought not to allow another to avenge 
such an outrage. As for the benefits which you have rained upon me. 


they will never be forgotten. I shall say I had gained an honorable 
protection, but Heaven denied me the virtues which were necessary in 
order to profit by it." 

In the end Napoleon saw that there was no way for him 
but to remain at Brienne, galled by poverty and formalism. 

It would be unreasonable to suppose that there was no 
relief to this sombre life. The boy won recognition more 
than once from his companions by his bravery and skill in 
defending his rights. He was not only valorous; he was 
generous, and, " preferred going to prison himself to de- 
nouncing his comrades who had done wrong.*' Young Na- 
poleon found, soon, that if there were things for which he 
was ridiculed, there were others for which he was ap- 

He made friends, particularly among his teachers; and 
to one of his comrades, Bourrienne, he remained attached 
for years. " You never laugh at me; you like me/' he said 
to his friend. Those who found him morose and surly, did 
not realize that beneath the reserved, sullen exterior of the 
little Corsican boy there was a proud and passionate heart 
aching for love and recognition; that it was sensitiveness 
rather than arrogance which drove him away from his 

At the end of five and one-half years Napoleon was pro- 
moted to the military school at Paris. The choice of pupils 
for this school was made by an inspector, at this time one 
Chevalier de Keralio, an amiable old man, who was fond of 
mingling with the boys as well as examining them. He was 
particularly pleased with Napoleon, and named him for pro- 
motion in spite of his being strong in nothing but mathemat- 
ics, and not yet being of the age required by the regulations. 
The teachers protested, but De Keralio insisted. 

" I know what I am doing,'' he said. '* If I put the rules 
aside in this case, it is not to do his family a favor — I do 


not know them. It is because of the child himself. I have 
seen a spark here which cannot be too carefully cultivated." 
De Keralio died before the nominations were made, but 
his wishes in regard to young Bonaparte were carried out. 
The recommendation which sent him up is curious. The 
notes read : 


Monsieur de Bonaparte; height four feet, ten inches and ten lines; 
he has passed his fourth examination ; good constitution, excellent 
heahh ; submissive character, frank and grateful ; regular in conduct ; 
has distinguished himself by his application to mathematics ; is passa- 
bly well up in history and geography ; is behindhand in his Latin. 
Will make an excellent sailor. Deserves to be sent to the school ia 



IT was in October, 1784, that Napoleon was placed in the 
Ecole Militaire at Paris, the same school which still 
faces the Champ de Mars. He was fifteen years old 
at the time, a thin-faced, awkward, countrified boy, who 
stared open-mouthed at the Paris street sights and seemed 
singularly out of place to those who saw him in the capital 
for the first time. 

Napoleon found his new associates even more distasteful 
than those at Brienne had been. The pupils of the Ecole 
Militaire were sons of soldiers and provincial gentlemen, 
educated gratuitously, and rich young men who paid for 
their privileges. The practices of the school were luxuri- 
ous. There was a large staff of servants, costly stables, 
several courses at meals. Those who were rich spent freely ; 
most of those who were poor ran in debt. Napoleon could 
not pay his share in the lunches and gifts which his mates 
offered now and then to teachers and fellows. He saw his 
sister Eliza, who was at Madame de Maintenon's school at 
St. Cyr, weep one day for the same reason. He would not 
borrow. " My mother has already too many expenses, and 
I have no business to increase them by extravagances which 
are simply imposed upon me by the stupid folly of my com- 
rades." But he did complain loudly to his friends. The 
Permons, a Corsican family living on the Quai Conti, who 
made Napoleon thoroughly at home, even holding a room 



at his disposal, frequently discussed these complaints. Was 
it vanity and envy, or a wounded pride and just indigna- 
tion? The latter, said Monsieur Permon. This feeling 
was so profound with Napoleon, that, with his natural in- 
stinct for regulating whatever was displeasing to him, he 
prepared a memorial to the government, full of good, prac- 
tical sense, on the useless luxury of the pupils. 

A year in Paris finished Napoleon's military education, 
and in October, 1785, when sixteen years old, he received 
his appointment as second lieutenant of the artillery in a 
regiment stationed at Valence. Out of the fifty-eight pupils 
entitled that year to the promotion of second lieutenant, but 
six went to the artillery; of these six Napoleon was one. 
His examiner said of him : 

'* Reserved and studious, he prefers study to any amusement, and 
enjoys reading the best authors; applies himself earnestly to the ab- 
stract sciences; cares little for anything else. He is silent and loves 
solitude. He is capricious, haughty, and excessively egotistical ; talks 
little, but is quick and energetic in his replies, prompt and severe in 
his repartees; has great pride and ambitions, aspiring to anything. The 
young man is worthy of patronage." 

He left Paris at once, on money lx)rrowed from a cloth 
merchant whom his father had patronized, not sorry, prob- 
ably, that his school-days were over, though it is certain 
that all of those who had been friendly to him in this period 
he never forgot in the future. Several of his old teachers 
at Brienne received pensions; one was made rector of the 
School of Fine Arts established at Compiegne, another 
librarian at Malmaison, where the porter was the former 
porter at Brienne. The professors of the Ecole Militaire 
were equally well taken care of, as well as many of his 
schoolmates. During the Consulate, learning that Madame 
de Montesson, wife of the Duke of Orleans, was still living, 
he sent for her to come to the Tuileries, and asked what he 


could do for her. '' But, General/' protested Madame de 
Montesson, ** I have no claim upon you." 

" You do not know, then,'' replied the First Consul, 
" that I received my first crown from you. You went to 
Brienne with the Duke of Orleans to distribute the prizes, 
and in placing a laurel wreath on my head, you said : ' May 
it bring you happiness.' They say I am a fatalist, Madame, 
so it is quite plain that I could not forget what you no longer 
remember ; " and the First Consul caused the sixty thousand 
francs of yearly income left Madame de Montesson by the 
Duke of Orleans, but confiscated in the Revolution, to be 
returned. Later, at her request, he raised one of her rela- 
tives to the rank of senator. In 1805, when emperor. Na- 
poleon gave a life pension of six thousand francs to the son 
of his former protector, the Count de Marbceuf, and with it 
went his assurance of interest and good will in all the cir- 
cumstances of the young man's life. Generous, forbearing, 
even tender remembrance of all who had been associated 
with him in his early years, was one of Napoleon's marked 

His new position at Valence was not brilliant. He had 
an annual income of two hundred and twenty-four dollars, 
and there was much hard work. It was independence, how- 
ever, and life opened gayly to the young officer. He made 
many acquaintances, and for the first time saw something 
of society and women. Madame Colombier, whose salon 
was the leading one of the town, received him, introduced 
him to powerful friends, and, indeed, prophesied a great 
future for him. 

The sixteen-year-old officer, in spite of his shabby clothes 
and big boots, became a favorite. He talked brilliantly 
and freely, began to find that he could please, and, for the 
first time, made love a little — to Mademoiselle Colombier — 
a frolicking boy-and-girl love, the object of whose stolen 


rendezvous was to eat cherries together. Mademoiselle 
Mion-Desplaces, a pretty Corsican girl in Valence, also re- 
ceived some attention from him. Encouraged by his good 
beginning, and ambitious for future success, he even began 
to take dancing lessons. 

Had there been no one but himself to think of, everything 
would have gone easily, but the care of his family was upon 
him. His father had died a few months before, February, 
1785, and left his affairs in a sad tangle. Joseph, now 
nearly eighteen years of age, w^ho had gone to Autun in 
1779 with Napoleon, had remained there until 1785. The 
intention was to make him a priest; suddenly he declared 
that he would not be anything but a soldier. It was to 
undo all that had been done for him; but his father made 
an effort to get him into a military school. Before the ar- 
rangements were complete Charles Bonaparte died, and 
Joseph was obliged to return to Corsica, where he was pow- 
erless to do anything for his mother and for the four young 
children at home : Louis, aged nine ; Pauline, seven ; Caro- 
line, five; Jerome, three. 

Lucien, now nearly eleven years old, was at Brienne, re- 
fusing to become a soldier, as his family desired, and giving 
his time to literature ; but he was not a free pupil, and the 
six hundred francs a year needful for him was a heavy tax. 
Eliza alone was provided for. She had entered St. Cyr in 
1784 as one of the two hundred and fifty pupils supported 
there by his Majesty, and to be a demoiselle de St, Cyr was 
to be fed, taught, and clothed from seven to twenty, and, 
on leaving, to receive a dowry of three thousand francs, a 
trousseau, and one hundred and fifty francs for travelling 
expenses home. 

Napoleon regarded his family's situation more seriously 
than did his brothers. Indeed, when at Brienne he had 
shown an interest, a sense of responsibility, and a good 


judgment about the future of his brothers and sisters, quite 
amazing in so young a boy. When he was fifteen years 
old, he wrote a letter to his uncle, which, for its keen analy- 
sis, would do credit to the father of a family. The subject 
was his brother Joseph's desire to abandon the Church and 
go into the king's service. Napoleon is summing up the 
pros and cons: 

" First. As father says, he has not the courage to face the perils 
of an action; his health is feeble, and will not allow him to support 
the fatigues of a campaign ; and my brother looks on the military pro- 
fession only from a garrison point of view. He would make a good 
garrison officer. He is well made, light-minded, knows how to pay 
compliments, and with these talents he will always get on well in 

Second. He has received an ecclesiastical education, and it is very 
late to undo that. Monscignor the Bishop of Autun would have given 
him a fat living, and he would have been sure to become a bishop. 
What an advantage for the family! Monseignor of Autun has done 
all he could to encourage him to persevere, promising that he should 
never repent. Should he persist, in wishing to be a soldier. I must 
praise him, provided he has a decided taste for his profession, the fin- 
est of all, and the great motive power of human affairs. . . . He 
wishes to be a military man. That is all very well; but in what corps? 
Is it the marine? First: He knows nothing of mathematics; it would 
take him two years to learn. Second: His health is incompatible with 
the .*;ea. Is it the engineers? He would require four or five years to 
learn what is necessar>', and at the end of that time he would be 
only a cadet. Besides, working all day long would n(U suit him. The 
same reasons which apply to the engineers apply to the artillery, with 
this exception; that he would have to work eighteen month': to be- 
come a cadet, and eighteen months more to become an officer. . . . 
No doubt he wishes to join the infantry. . . . And what is the 
slender infantry officer? Three-fourths of the time a scapegrace. 
. . . . A last effort will be made to persuade him to enter the 
Church, in default of which, father will take him to Corsica, where he 
will be under his eye." 

It was not strange that Charles Bonaparte considered the 
advice of a son who could write so clear-headed a letter as 
the one just quoted, or that the boy's uncle Lucien said, 


before dying : *' Remember, that if Joseph is the older, Na- 
poleon is the real head of the house." 

Now that young Bonaparte was in an independent posi- 
tion, he felt still more keenly his responsibility, and it was 
for this reason, as w^ell as because of ill-health, that he left 
his regiment in February, 1787, on a leave which he ex- 
tended to nearly fifteen months, and which he spent in ener- 
getic efforts to better his family's situation, working to re- 
establish salt works and a mulberry plantation in w^hich they 
were concerned, to secure the nomination of Lucien to the 
college at Aix, and to place Louis at a French military school. 

When he went back to his regiment, now stationed at 
Auxonne, he denied himself to send money home, and spent 
his leisure in desperate work, sleeping but six hours, eating 
but one meal a day, dressing once in the week. Like all the 
young men of the country who had been animated by the 
philosophers and encyclopedists, he had attempted literature, 
and at this moment w^as finishing a history of Corsica, a 
portion of which he had written at Valence and submitted 
to the Abbe Raynal, who had encouraged him to go on. 
The manuscript was completed and ready for publication in 
1788, and the author made heroic efforts to find some one 
who would accept a dedication, as well as some one who 
would publish it. Before he had succeeded, events had 
crowded the work out of sight, and other ambitions occu- 
pied his forces. Napoleon had many literary projects on 
hand at this time. He had been a prodigious reader, and 
was never so happy as when he could save a few cents with 
which to buy second-hand books. From everything he read 
he made long extracts, and kept a book of *' thoughts.** 
Most curious are some of these fragments, reflections on the 
beginning of society, on love, on nature. They show that 
he was passionately absorbed in forming ideas on the great 
questions of life and its relations. 


Besides his history of Corsica, he had already written 
several fragments, among them an historical drama called 
the " Count of Essex," and a story, the " Masque Proph- 
ete." He undertook, tot), to write a sentimental journey 
in the style of Sterne, describing a trip from Valence to 
Mont-Cenis. Later he competed for a prize offered by the 
Academy of Lyons on the subject : '* To determine what 
truths and feehngs should be inculcated in men for their hap- 
piness." He failed in the contest; indeed, the essay was 
severely criticised for its incoherency and poor style. 

The Revolution of 1789 turned Napoleon's mind to an 
ambition greater than that of writing the history of Corsica 
— he would free Corsica. The National Assembly had lifted 
the island from its inferior relation and made it a depart- 
ment of France, but sentiment was much divided, and the 
ferment was similar to that which agitated the mainland. 
Napoleon, deei)ly interested in the progress of the new liberal 
ideas, and seeing, too, the op])ortunity for a soldier and an 
agitator among his countrymen, hastened home, where he 
spent some twenty-five months out of the next two and a 
half years. That the young officer spent five-sixths of his 
time in Corsica, instead of in service, and that he in more 
than one instance pleaded reasons for leaves of absence 
which one would have to be exceedingly unso])histicated 
not to see were trumped uj) for the occasion, cannot be at- 
tributed merely to duplicity of character and contempt for 
authority. He was doing only what he had learned to do at 
the militarv schools of Brienne and Paris, and what he saw 
practised about him in the army. Indeed, the whole French 
army at that period made a business of shirking duty. Every 
minister of war in the period complains of the incessant de- 
sertions among the common soldiers. Among the officers it 
was no better. True, they did not desert: they held their 
places and — did nothing. ** Those who were rich and well 


born had no need to work/' says the Marshal Due de Bro- 
glie. ** They were promoted by favoritism. Those who were 
poor and from the provinces had no need to work either. It 
did them no good if they did, for, not having patronage, 
thev could not advance." The Comte de Saint-Germain 
said in regard to the officers : ** There is not one who is in 
active service : they one and all amuse themselves and look 
out for their own affairs." 

Napoleon, tormented by the desire to help his family, 
goaded by his ambition and by an imperative intern need of 
action and achievement, still divided in his allegiance be- 
tween France and Corsica, could not have been expected, in 
his environment, to take nothing more than the leaves al- 
lowed by law\ 

Revolutionary agitation did not absorb all the time he w^as 
in Corsica. Never did he work harder for his family. The 
portion of this two and a half years which he spent in 
France, he was accompanied by Louis, whose tutor he had 
become, and he suflfered every deprivation to help him. Na- 
poleon's income at that time was sixty-five cents a day. This 
meant that he must live in wretched rooms, prepare himself 
the broth on which he and his brother dined, never go to a 
cafe, brush his own clothes, give Louis lessons. He did it 
bravely. ** I breakfasted off dry bread, but I bolted my 
door on my poverty," he said once to a young officer com- 
plaining of the economies he must make on two hundred 
dollars a month. 

Economy and privation were always more supportable to 
him than borrowing. He detested irregularities in finan- 
cial matters. ** Your finances are deplorably conducted, ap- 
parently on metaphysical principles. Believe me, money is a 
very physical thing," he once said to Joseph, when the latter, 
as King of Naples, could not make both ends meet. He put 
Jerome to sea largely to stop his reckless expenditures. (At 


fifteen that young man paid three thousand two hundred 
dollars for a shaving case ** containing everything except 
the be^rd to enable its owner to use it/') Some of the most 
furious scenes which occurred between Napoleon and Jo- 
sephine were because she was continually in debt. After the 
divorce he frequently cautioned her to be w^atchful of her 
money. ** Think what a bad opinion I should have of you 
if I knew you were in debt with an income of six hundred 
thousand dollars a year," he wrote her in 18 13. 

The methodical habits of Marie Louise were a constant 
satisfaction to Napoleon. " She settles all her accounts once 
a week, deprives herself of new gowns if necessary, and im- 
poses privations upon herself in order to keep out of debt," 
he said proudly. A bill of sixty-two francs and thirty-two 
centimes was once sent to him for window blinds placed in 
the salon of the Princess Borghese. " As I did not order 
this expenditure, which ought not to be charged to my bud- 
get, the princess will pay it," he wrote on the margin. 

It was not parsimony. It was the man's sense of order. 
No one was more generous in gifts, pensions, salaries ; but 
it irritated him to see money wasted or managed carelessly. 

Through his long absence in Corsica, and the complaints 
which the conservatives of the island had made to the French 
government of the way he had handled his battalion of Na- 
tional Guards in a riot at Ajaccio, Napoleon lost his place in 
the French army. He came to Paris in the spring of 1792, 
hoping to regain it. But in the confused condition of public 
affairs little attention was given to such cases, and he was 
obliged to wait. 

Almost penniless, he dined on six-cent dishes in cheap 
restaurants, pawned his watch, and with Bourrienne devised 
schemes for making a fortune. One was to rent some new 
houses going up in the city and to sub-let them. While he 
waited he saw the famous davs of the ** Second Revolution *' 


— the 20th of June, when the mob surrounded the Tuileries, 
overran the palace, put the bonnet rouge on Louis XVL*s 
head, did everything but strike, as the agitators had in- 
tended. Napoleon and Bourrienne. loitering on the out- 
skirts, saw the outrages, and he said, in disgust : 

** Che coglione, why did they allow these 1)rutes to come 
in? They ought to have shot down five or six hundred of 
them with cannon, and the rest would soon have run/' 

He saw the loth of August, when the king was deposed. 
He was still in Paris when the horrible September massacres 
began — those massacres in which, to *' save the country,*' 
the fanatical and terrified populace resolved to put ** rivers 
of blood " between Paris and the emigres. All these ex- 
cesses filled him with disgust. He began to understand 
that the Revolution he admired so much needed a head. 

In August Xa])oleon was restored to the army. The fol- 
lowing June found him with his regiment in the south of 
France. In the interval si)ent in Corsica, he had abandoned 
Paoli and the cause of Corsican indei)endence. His old 
hero had been dragged, in s])ite of himself, into a movement 
for separating the island from France. Napoleon had taken 
the position that the French government, whatever its ex- 
cesses, was the only advocate in Europe of liberty and equal- 
ity, and that Corsica would better remain with France rather 
than seek English aid, as it must if it revolted. But he and 
his party were defeated, and he with his family was obliged 
to flee. 

The Corsican period of his life was over; the French had 
opened. He began it as a thorough republican. The evo- 
lution of his enthusiasm for the Revolution had been natural 
enough. He had been a devoted believer in Rousseau's 
principles. The year 1789 had struck down the abuses which 
galled him in French society and government. After the 
flight of the king in 1791 he had taken the oath : 


" I swear to employ the arms placed in my hands for the defence 
of the country, and to maintain against all her enemies, both from 
within and from without, the Constitution as declared by the National 
Assembly; to die rather than to suffer the invasion of the French ter- 
ritory by foreign troops, and to obey orders given in accordance with 
the decree of the National Assembly." 

** The nation is now the paramount object/' he wrote ; 
** my natural inclinations are now in harmony with my du- 

The efforts of the court and the emigres to overthrow the 
new government had increased his devotion to France. " My 
southern blood leaps in my veins wnth the rapidity of the 
Rhone/' he said, when the question of the preservation of 
the Constitution was brought up. The months spent at 
Paris in 1792 had only intensified his radical notions. Now 
that he had abandoned his country, rather than assist it to 
fight the Revolution, he was better prepared than ever to 
become a Frenchman. It seemed the only way to repair his 
and his family's fortune. 

The condition of the Bonapartes on arriving in France 
after their expulsion from Corsica was abject. Their prop- 
erty " pillag^l sacked, and burned," they had escaped pen- 
niless — were, in fact, refugees dependent upon French 
bounty. They wandered from place to place, but at last 
found a good friend in Monsieur Clary of Marseilles, a soap- 
boiler, with two pretty daughters, Julie and Desiree, and 
Joseph and Napoleon became inmates of his house. 

It was not as a soldier but as a writer that Napoleon first 
distinguished himself in this new period of his life. An in- 
surrection against the government had arisen in Marseilles. 
In an imaginary conversation called le souper de Beaucaire, 
Napoleon discussed the situation so clearly and justly that 
Salicetti, Gasparin, and Robespierre the younger, the depu- 
ties who were looking after the South, ordered the paper 
published at public expense, and distributed it as a campaign 

Louvre. It possesses m 
of the Bchool fellows of 

■ Brienne by one 

" Mh cara amico BuBnaparlt. PtntorniHi dtl Teumenf. 1785." 


document. More, they promised to favor the author when 
they had an opportunity. 

It soon came. Toulon had opened its doors to the Eng- 
Hsh and joined Marseilles in a counter-revolution. Napo- 
leon was in the force sent against the town, and he was soon 
promoted to the command of the Second Regiment of artil- 
lery. His energy and skill won him favorable attention. 
He saw at once that the important point was not besieging 
the town, as the general in command was doing and the 
Convention had ordered, but in forcing the allied fleet from 
the harbor, when the town must fall of itself. But the com- 
mander-in-chief was slow, and it was not until the command 
was changed and an officer of experience and wisdom put 
in charge that Napoleon's plans were listened to. The new 
general saw at once their value, and hastened to carry them 
out. The result was the withdrawal of the allies in Decem- 
ber, 1793, and the fall of Toulon. Bonaparte was mentioned 
by the general-in-chief as " one of those who have most dis- 
tinguished themselves in aiding me,'* and in February, 1794, 
was made general of brigade. 

It is interesting to note that it was at Toulon that Napo- 
leon first came in contact with the English. Here he made 
the acquaintance of Junot, Marmont, and Duroc. Barras, 
too, had his attention drawn to him at the same time. 

The circumstances which brought Junot and Napoleon 
together at Toulon were especially heroic. Some one was 
needed to carry an order to an exposed point. Napoleon 
asked for an under officer, audacious and intelligent. Junot, 
then a sergeant, was sent. '* Take off your uniform and 
carry this order there,'* said Napoleon, indicating the point. 

Junot blushed and his eyes flashed. '' I am not a spy,'' 
he answered ; ** find some one beside me to execute such an 

" You refuse to obey? " said Napoleon. 




- I am rody to obey," answered Junot, " but I will go in 
3iy ^ncKTxn or not go at all. It is honor enough then for 


■jie :Qcer smiled and let him go, but he took pains to 
JVC b£5 name. 
A iew days later Napoleon called for some one in the 
;?io wrote a good hand to come to him. Junot of- 
^t, and sat down close to the batterv to write the 
H< had scarcely finished when a bomb thrown by the 
3ugri=sr rcrsi near by and covered him and his letter with 

' 5a:d Junot, laughing, ** I shall not need any sand 

iiotiu(Atrte kx>ked at the young man, who had not even 
jl: rhe danger, t^roni that time the young sergeant 
;:th ihe a>mmander of artillery. 



THE favors granted Napoleon fqr his services at Tou- 
lon were extended to his family. Madame Bona- 
parte was helped by the municipality of Marseilles. 
Joseph was made commissioner of war. Lucien was joined 
to the Army of Italy, and in the town where he was stationed 
became famous as a popular orator — *' little Robespierre/' 
they called him. He began, too» here to make love to his 
landlord's daughter, Christine Boyer, afterwards his wife. 

The outlook for the refugees seemed very good, and it 
was made still brighter by the very particular friendship of 
the younger Robespierre for Napoleon. This friendship 
was soon increased by the part Napoleon played in a cam- 
paign of a month with the Army of Italy, when, largely by 
his genius, the seaboard from Nice to Genoa was put into 
French power. If this victory was much for the army and 
for Robespierre, it was more for Napoleon. He looked 
from the Tende, and saw for the first time that in Italy there 
was ** a land for a conqueror." Robespierre wrote to his 
brother, the real head of the government at the moment, that 
Napoleon possessed '* transcendent merit.'* He engaged 
him to draw up a plan for a campaign against Piedmont, and 
sent him on a secret mission to Genoa. The relations be- 
tween the two young men were, in fact, very close, and, con- 
sidering the position of Robespierre the elder, the outlook 
for Bonaparte was good. 



That Bonaparte admired the powers of the elder Robes- 
pierre, is unquestionable. He was sure that if he had " re- 
mained in power, he would have reestablished order and 
law: the result would have been attained without any 
shocks, because it would have come through the quiet exer- 
cise of ])ower/' Nevertheless, it is certain that the young 
general was unwilling to c(^me into close contact with the 
Terrorist leader, as his refusal of an offer to go to Paris to 
take the command of the garrison of the city shows. No 
doubt his refusal was partly due to his ambition — he thought 
the opening better where he was — and partly due, too, to his 
dislike of the excesses which the government was practising. 
That he never favored the policy of the Terrorists, all those 
who knew him test if v. and there are manv stories of his 
efforts at this time to save emigres and suspects from the vio- 
lence of the rabid patriots ; even to save the English im- 
prisoned at Toulon. lie always remembered Robespierre 
the younger with kindness, and when he was in power gave 
Charlotte Robespierre a pension. 

Things had begun to go well for Bonaparte. His pov- 
erty passed. If his plan for an Italian campaign succeeded, 
he might even aspire to the command of the army. His 
brothers received good positions. Joseph was betrothed to 
Julie Clary, and life went gayly at Nice and Marseilles, 
where Napoleon had about him many of his friends — Robes- 
pierre and his sister: his own two pretty sisters: Marmont, 
and Junot, who was deeply in love with Pauline. Suddenly 
all this hope and happiness were shattered. On the 9th 
Thermidor Robespierre fell, and all who had favored him 
were suspected, Napoleon among the rest. His secret mis- 
sion to Genoa gave a pretext for his arrest, and for thirteen 
days, in August, 1794, he was a prisoner, but through his 
friends was liberated. Soon after his release, came an ap- 
pointment to join an expedition against Corsica. He set 


out, but the undertaking was a failure, and the spring found 
him again without a place. 

In April, 1795, Napoleon received orders to join the Army 
of the West. When he reached Paris lie found that it was 
the infantry to which he was assigned. Such a change was 
considered a disgrace in the army. He refused to go. " A 
great many officers could command a brigade better than I 
could," he wrote a friend, '' but few could command the ar- 
tillery so well. I retire, satisfied that the injustice done to 
the service will be sufficiently felt by those who know how 
to appreciate matters." But though he might call himself 
** satisfied," his retirement w^as a most serious affair for him. 
It was the collapse of what seemed to be a career, the shut- 
ting of the gate he had worked so fiercely to open. 

He must begin again, and he did not see how. A sort of 
despair settled over him. ** He declaimed against fate," 
says the Duchess d'Abrantes. ** I was idle and discon- 
tented," he says of himself. He went to the theatre and sat 
sullen and inattentive through the gayest of plays. " He 
had moments of fierce hilarity," says Bourrienne. 

A pathetic distaste of effort came over him at times; he 
wanted to settle. ** If I could have that house," he said one 
day to Bourrienne, pointing to an empty house near by, 
'* with my friends and a cabriolet, I should be the happiest of 
men." He clung to his friends with a sort of desperation, 
and his letters to Joseph are touching in the extreme. 

Love as well as failure caused his melancholy. All about 
him, indeed, turned thoughts to marriage. Joseph was now- 
married, and his happiness made him envious. *' What a 
lucky rascal Joseph is ! " he said. Junot, madly in love with 
Pauline, was wnth him. The two young men wandered 
through the alleys of the Jardin des Plantes and discussed 
Junot's passion. In listening to his friend. Napoleon 
thought of himself. He had been attracted by Desiree Clary, 


Joseph's sister-in-iaw. Why not try to win her? And he 
began to demand news of her from Joseph. Desiree had 
asked for his portrait, and he wrote : '' I shall have it taken 
for her ; you must give it to her, if she still wants it ; if not, 
keep it yourself." He was melancholy when he did not have 
news of her, accused Joseph of purposely omitting her name 
from his letters, and Desiree herself of forgetting him. At 
last he consulted Joseph : " If I remain here, it is just possi- 
ble that I might feel inclined to commit the folly of marry- 
ing. I should be glad of a line from you on the subject. 
You might perhaps speak to Eugenie's [Desiree's] brother, 
and let me know what he says, and then it will be settled." 
He waited the answer to his overtures ** with impatience " ; 
urged his brother to arrange things so that nothing '' may 
prevent that which I long for." But Desiree was obdurate. 
Later she married Bernadotte and became Queen of Sweden. 
Yet in these varying moods he was never idle. As three 
years before, he and Bourrienne indulged in financial spec- 
ulations ; he tried to persuade Joseph to invest his wife's dot 
in the property of the emigres. He pre])ared memorials on 
the political disorders of the times and on military questions, 
and he pushed his brothers as if he had no personal ambition. 
He did not neglect to make friends either. The most im- 
portant of those whom he cultivated was Paul Barras, revolu- 
tionist, conventionalist, member of the Directorv, and one of 
the most influential men in Paris at that moment. He had 
known Napoleon at Toulon, and showed himself disposed 
to be friendly. ** I attached myself to Barras," said Napo- 
leon later, '* because I knew no one else. Robespierre was 
dead; Barras was playing a role: I had to attach myself to 
somebody and something." One of his ])lans for himself 
was to go to Turkey. For two or three years, in fact. Napo- 
leon had thought of the Orient as a possible field for his 
genius, and his mother had often worried lest he should go. 


Just now it happened that the Sultan of Turkey asked the 
French for aid in reorganizing his artillery and perfecting 
the defences of his forts, and Napoleon asked to be allowed 
to undertake the work. While pushing all his plans with 
extraordinary enthusiasm, even writing Joseph almost daily 
letters about what he would do for him when he was settled 
in the Orient, he was called to do a piece of work which was 
to be of importance in his future. 

The war committee needed plans for an Italian campaign ; 
the head of the committee was in great perplexity. Nobody 
knew anything about the condition of things in the South. 
By chance, one day, one of Napoleon's accjuaintances heard 
of the difficulties and recommended the young general. The 
memorial he prepared was so excellent that he was invited 
into the topograj)hical bureau of the Committee of Public 
Safety. His knowledge, sense, energ}% fire, were so re- 
markable that he made strong friends and became an im- 
portant ])ersonage. 

Such was the impression he made, that when in October, 
1795, the government was threatened by the revolting sec- 
tions, Barras, the nominal head of the defence, asked Napo- 
leon to command the forces which protected the Tuileries, 
where the Convention had gone into permanent session. He 
hesitated for a moment. He had much sympathy for the 
sections. His sagacity concjuered. The Convention stood 
for the republic : an overthrow now meant another pro- 
scription, more of the Terror, perhaps a royalist succession, 
an English invasion. 

** I accept,'* he said to Barras : ** but I warn you that once 
my sw(^rd is out of the scabbard I shall not replace it till I 
have established order." 

It was on the night of 12th Vendemiaire that Napoleon 
was appointed. W'ith incredible rapidity he massed the men 
and cannon he could secure at the openings into the palace 


and at the points of approach. He armed even the members 
of Jhe Convention as a reserve. When the sections marched 
their men into the streets and upon the bridges leading to the 
Tuileries, they were met by a fire which scattered them at 
once. That night Paris was quiet. The next day Napo- 
leon was made general of division. On October 26th he 
was appointed general-in-chief of the Army of the Interior. 

At last the opportunity he had sought so long and so 
eagerly had come. It was a proud position for a young 
man of twenty-six, and one may well stop and ask how he 
had obtained it. The answer is not difficult for one who, 
dismissing the prejudices and superstitions which have long 
enveloped his name, studies his story as he would that of an 
unknown individual. He had won his place as any poor 
and ambitious boy in any country and in any age must win 
his — by hard work, by grasping at every opportunity, by 
constant self-denial, by courage in every failure, by spring- 
ing to his feet after every fall. 

He succeeded because he knew every detail of his business 
(** There is nothing I cannot do for myself. If there is no 
one to make powder for the cannon I can do it ") ; because 
neither ridicule nor coldness nor even the black discourage- 
ment which made him write once to Joseph, " If this state 
of things continues I shall end by not turning out of my path 
when a carriage passes," could stop him; because he had 
profound faith in himself. ** Do these people imagine that I 
want their help to rise? They will be too glad some day to 
accept mine. My sword is at my side, and I will go far with 
it." That he had misrepresented conditions more than once 
to secure favor, is true ; but in doing this he had done simply 
what he saw done all about him, what he had learned from 
his father, what the oblique morality of the day justified. 
That he had shifted opinions and allegiance, is equally true ; 
but he who in the French Revolution did not shift opinion 

' (o a Rnishcd [Kii 


was he who regarded " not what is, but what might be." 
Certainly in no respect had he been worse than his environ- 
ment, and in many respects he had been far above it. He 
had struggled for place, not that he might have ease, but that 
he might have an opportunity for action ; not that he might 
amuse himself, but that he might achieve glory. Nor did 
he seek honors merely for himself; it was that he might 
share them with others. 

The first use Bonaparte made of his power after he was 
appointed general-in-chief of the Army of the Interior, was 
for his family and friends. Fifty or sixty thousand francs, 
assignats, and dresses go to his mother and sisters; Joseph 
is to have a consulship; ** a roof, a table, and carriage " are 
at his disposal in Paris; Louis is made a lieutenant and his 
aide-de-camp ; Lucien, commissioner of war ; Junot and Mar- 
mont are put on his staflf. He forgets nobody. The very 
day after the 13th Vendemiaire, when his cares and excite- 
ments were numerous and intense, he was at the Permon's, 
where Monsieur Permon had just died. " He was like a 
son, a brother.'' This relation he soon tried to change, seek- 
ing to marry the beautiful widow Permon. When she 
laughed merrily at the idea, for she was many years his 
senior, he replied that the age of his wife was a matter of 
indifference to him so long as she did not look over thirty. 

The change in Bonaparte himself was great. Up to this 
time he had gone about Paris " in an awkward and ungainly 
manner, with a shabby round hat thrust down over his eyes, 
and with curls (known at that time as orcillcs dcs chicns) 
badly powdered and badly combed, and falling over the col- 
lar of the iron -gray coat which has since become so cele- 
brated ; his hands, long, thin, and black, without gloves, ht- 
cause, he said, they were an unnecessary expense; wearing 
ill-made and ill-cleaned boots.'* The majority of people 
saw in him only what Monsieur de Pontecoulant, who took 


him into the War Office, liad seen at their first interview; 
** A young man with a wan and Hvid complexion, bowed 
shoulders, and a weak and sickly appearance." 

But now, installed in an elegant hotel, driving his own car- 
riage, careful of his person, received in every salon where he 
cared to go, the young general-in-chief is a changed man. 
Success has had much to do with this ; love has perhaps had 



napoleon's courtship and marriage HIS DEVOTION TO 


IN the five months spent in Paris before the 13th Vende- 
miaire, Bonaparte saw something of society. One in- 
teresting company which he often joined, was that 
gathered about Madame Permon at a hotel in the Rue des 
Filles Saint-Thomas. This Madame Permon was the same 
with whom he had taken refuge frequently in the days 
when he was in the military school of Paris, and whom he 
had visited later, in 1792, when lingering in town with 
hope of recovering his place in the army. On this latter 
occasion he had even exposed himself to aid her and her 
husband to escape the fury of the Terrorists and to fly from 
the citv. Madame Permon had returned to Paris in the 
spring of 1795 for a few weeks, and numl>ers of her old 
friends had gathered about her as before the Terror, among 
them, Bonaparte. 

Another house — and one of verv different character — at 
which he was received, was that of Barras. The 9th Thermi- 
dor, as the fall of Robespierre is called, released Paris from 
a strain of terror so great that, in reaction, she plunged for a 
time into violent excess. In this period of decadence Barras 
was sovereign. Epicurean by nature, possessing the tastes, 
culture, and vices of the old regime, he was better fitted 
than any man in the government to create and direct a dis- 
solute and luxurious society. Into this set Napoleon was in- 
troduced, and more than once he expressed his astonishment 
to Joseph at the turn things had taken in Paris. 



" The pleasure-seekers have reappeared, and forget, or, rather, remem- 
ber only as a dream, that they ever ceased to* shine. Libraries are open, 
and lectures on history, chemistry, astronomy, etc.. succeed each other. 
Everything is done to amuse and make life agreeable. One has no time 
to think ; and how can one be gloomy in this busy whirlwind ? Women 
are everywhere — at the theatres, on the promenades, in the libraries. In 
the study of the savant you meet some that are charming. Here alone, 
of all places in the world, they deserve to hold the helm. The men are 
mad over them, think only of them, live only by and for them. A 
woman need not stay more than six months in Paris to learn what is 
due her and what is her empire. . . . This great nation has given 
itself up to pleasure, dancing, and theatres, and women have become the 
principal occupation. Ease, luxury, and ban ton have recovered their 
throne; the Terror is remembered only as a dream." 

Bonaparte took his part in the gayeties of his new friends, 
and was soon on easy terms with most of the women who 
frequented the salon of Rarras, even with the most in- 
fluential of tliem all, the famous Madame Tallien, the great 
beauty of the Directory. 

Among the women whom he met in the salon of Madame 
Tallien and at Barras's own house, was the Viscountess de 
Beauharnais {ncc Tascher de la Pagerie), widow of the 
Marquis de Beauharnais, guillotined on the 5th Thermidor, 
1794. At the time of the marquis's death his wife was a 
prisoner. She was released soon after and had become an 
intimate friend of Madame Tallien. All Madame Tal- 
lien's circle had, indeed, become attached to Josephine de 
Beauharnais, and with Barras she was on terms of intimacy 
which led to a great amount (^f gossip. Without fortune, 
having two children to support, still trembling at the mem- 
ory of her imprisonment, indolent and vain, it is not re- 
markable that Josephine yielded to the pleasures of the 
society which had saved her from prison and which now 
opened its arms to her, nor that she accepted the protection 
of the powerful Director Barras. She was certainly one of 
the regular habitues of his house, and every week kept court 
for him at her little home at Croissy, a few miles from Paris. 


The Baron Pasquier, afterwards one of the members of 
Napoleon's Council of State, was at that moment living in 
poverty at Croissy — and was a neighbor of Josephine. In 
his ** Memoirs " he has left a paragraph on the gay little 
outings taken there by Barras and his friends. 

" Her house was next to ours/' says Pasquier. ** She did 
not come out often at that time, rarely more than once a 
week, to receive Barras and the troop which always fol- 
lowed him. From early in the morning we saw the hampers 
coming. Then mounted gendarmes began to circulate on 
the route from Nanterre to Croissy, for the young Director 
came usually on horseback. 

" Madame de Beauharnais's house had, as is often the case 
among Creoles, an appearance of luxury; but, the super- 
fluous aside, the most necessary things were lacking. Birds, 
game, rare fruits, were piled up in the kitchen (this was the 
time of our greatest famine), and there was such a want of 
stewing-pans, glasses, and plates, that they had to come and 
borrow from our poor stock." 

There was much about Josephine de Beauharnais to win 
the favor of such a man as Barras. A Creole past the fresh- 
ness of youth — ^Josephine was thirty-two years old in 1795 
— she had a grace, a sweetness, a charm, that made one for- 
get that she was not beautiful, even when she was beside 
such brilliant women as Madame Tallien and Madame 
Recamier. It was never possible to surprise her in an at- 
titude that was not graceful. She was never ruffled or 
irritable. By nature she was perfection of ease and repose. 
Artist enough to dress in clinging stuffs made simply, 
which harmonized perfectly with her style, and skilful 
enough to use the arts of the toilet to conceal defects which 
care and age had brought, the Viscountess de Beauharnais 
was altogether one of the most fascinating women in 
Madame Tallien's circle. 

agu. Wamn Ijrrey Kil/nic".!!! JntircslinR nint.'i'.'lc' r;'s'ar.''ih'!JJ'"llili! 

""-e Baron, son of Ihe chief lurRnHi Id Xapdcon (,. and 

>n to Xatwicon III.. liarM'cnine 1<> 1h- with 
. of Chalons canceivcd tlie nnl.le idea of 
iryiim in »nVL- me iwaimcnl of Die I'anthe.m. tlu-n al»ul l» Iv 
•Ifstroj't-d M «alisfv th« Arcliliishm) of Paris, who rt't:arik-U uilii 
lively disiileasure the Image of Voltaire fitcuriiiB on the facade of 
a buildinti ncnly cnnsecratiil In rclifiiDn. At lliv emiwror's table. 
Barrm H. Lariey adroitly turned the conversatii)n to llaviil. and 
informed the sovereinn. lu his *un'rise, Ih.-il the ffuudral effigy of 

is represented as aeiiinjc for himself the crowns distributed by the 

thia. Napoleon III. was silent; but the next day the order was Riven 
to respect Ihe pediment. The plaster cast 1 ^eprl^dllce here is 
signed /. PnH^. and dales from iBj6. The Pantlicun ivdimenl 


The goodness of Josephine's heart undoubtedly won her 
as many friends as her grace. Everybody who came to 
know her at all well, declared her gentle, sympathetic, and 
helpful. Everybody except, perhaps, the Bonaparte family, 
who never cared for her, and whom she never tried to win. 
Lucien, indeed, draws a picture of her in his " Memoirs '' 
which, if it could be regarded as unprejudiced, would take 
much of her charm from her : 

** Josephine was not disagreeable, or perhaps I better say, everybody 
declared that she was very good; but it was especially when goodness 
cost her no sacrifice. . . . She had very little wit, and no beauty at 
all ; but there was a certain Creole suppleness about her form. She 
had lost all natural freshness of complexion, but that the arts of the 
toilet remedied by candle-light. ... In the brilliant companies of 
the Directory, to which Barras did me the honor of admitting me, she 
scarcely attracted my attention, so old did she seem to me, .and so in- 
ferior to the other beauties which ordinarily formed the court of the 
voluptuous Directors, and among whom the beautiful Tallien was the 
true Calypso.*' 

But if Lucien was not attracted to Josephine, Napoleon w-as 
from the first ; and when, one day, Madame de Beauharnais 
said some flattering things to him about his military talent, 
he was fairly intoxicated by her praise, followed her every- 
where, and fell wildly in love with her; but by her station, 
her elegance, her influence, she seemed inaccessible to him. 
and then, too, he was looking elsewhere for a wife. When 
he first knew her, he was thinking of Desiree Clary; and he 
had known Josephine some time when he sought the hand 
of the widow Permon. 

Though he dared not tell her his love, all his circle knew 
of it, and Barras at last said to him, ** You should marry 
Madame de Beauharnais. You have a position and talents 
which will secure advancement; but you are isolated, with- 
out fortune and without relations. You ought to marry; 
it gives wxight,'' and he asked permission to negotiate the 


Josephine was distressed. Barras was her protector. She 
felt the wisdom of his advice, but Napoleon frightened and 
wearied her by the violence of his love. In spite of her 
doubts she yielded at last, and on the 9th of March, 1796, 
they were married. Shortly before, Xapoleon had been ap- 
pointed commander-in-chief of the Army of Italy, and two 
days later he left his wife for his post. 

From every station on his route he wrote her passionate 
letters : 

*' Every moment takes me farther from you. and every moment I feel 
less able to be away from you. Vou arc ever in my thoughts ; my fancy 
tires itself in trying to imagine what you are doing. If I picture you sad, 
my heart is wrung and my grief is increased. If you are happy and 
merry with your friends, I blame you for so .^^oon forgetting the painful 
three days separation; in that case you arc frivolous and destitute of 
deep feeling. As you see. I am hard to please ; but. my dear, it is very 
different when I fear your health is bad. or that you have any reasons 
for being sad ; then I regret the speed with which I am being separated 
from my love. I am sure that you have no hunger any kind feeling to- 
ward me, and I can only be satisfied when I have heard that all goes 
well with you. When any one asks me if I have slept well, I feel that 
I cannot answer until a messenger brings me word that you have rested 
well. The illnesses and anger of men affect me only so far as I think 
they may affect you. May my good genius, who has always protected 
me amid great perils, guard and protect you ! I will gladly dispense 
with him. Ah! don't be happy, but be a little melancholy, and, above 
all, keep sorrow from your mind and illness from your body. You 
remember what Ossian says about that. Write to me. my pet, and a 
good long letter, and accept a thousand and one kisses from your best 
and most loving friend." 

Arrived in Italy he wrote : 

" I have received all your letters, but none has made such an im- 
pression on me as the How can you think, my dear love, of writ- 
ing to me in such a way? Don't you believe my position is already cruel 
enough, without adding to my regrets and tormenting my soul? 
What a style! What feelings are those you describe! It's like fire; it 
burns my poor heart. My only Josephine, away from you there is no 
happiness; away from you, the world is a desert in which I stand alone, 
with no chance of tasting the delicious joy of pouring out my heart. 
You have robbed me of more than my soul ; you are the sole thought of 


my life. If I am worn out by all the torments of events, and fear the 
issue, if men disgust me, if I am ready to curse life, I place my hand 
on my heart; your image is beating there. I look at it, and love is for 
me perfect happiness; and everything is smiling, except the time that I 
see myself absent from my love. By what art have you learned how to 
captivate all my faculties, to concentrate my whole being in yourself? 
To live for Josephine ! That's the story of my life. I do everything to 
get to you ; I am dying to join you. Fool ! Do I not see that I am 
only going farther from you? How many lands and countries separate 
us! How long before you will read these words which express but 
feebly the emotions of the heart over which you reign! . . .'* 

" Don't be anxious ; love me like your eyes — but that's not enough — 
like yourself; more than yourself, than your thoughts, your mind, your 
life, your all. But forgive me, I'm raving. Nature is weak when one 
loves . . ." 

** I have received a letter which you interrupt to go, you say, into the 
country; and afterwards you pretend to be jealous of me, who am so 
worn out by work and fatigue. Oh. my dear ! ... Of course, I am 
in the wrong. In the early spring the country is beautiful ; and then the 
nineteen-year old lover was there, without a doubt. The idea of wast- 
ing another moment in writing to the man three hundred leagues away, 
who lives, moves, exists only in memory of you ; who reads your letters 
as one devours one's favorite dishes after hunting for six hours I " 

JVNOI (I7?l"8l3>. 




BUT Napoleon had much to occupy him besides his sep- 
aration from Josephine. Extraordinary difficulties 
surrounded his new post. Neither the generals nor 
the men knew anything of their new commander. ** Who 
is this General Bonaparte? Where has he served? No 
one knows anything about him," wrote Junot's father when 
the latter at Toulon decided to follow his artillery com- 

In the Army of Italy they were asking the same questions, 
and the Directory could only answer as Junot had done: 
" As far as I can judge, he is one of those men of whom 
nature is avaricious, and that she permits upon the earth 
only from age to age." 

He was to replace a commander-in-chief who had sneered 
at his plans for an Italian campaign and who might be ex- 
pected to put obstacles in his way. He was to take an army 
which was in the last stages of poverty and discouragement. 
Their garments were in rags. Even the officers were so 
nearly shoeless that when they reached Milan and one of 
them was invited to dine at the palace of a marquise, he was 
obliged to go in shoes without soles and tied on by cords 
carefully blacked. They had provisions for only a month, 
and half rations at that. The Piedmontese called them the 
" rag heroes." 

Worse than their poverty was their inactivity. " For 



three years they had fired off their guns in Italy only because 
war was going on, and not for any especial object — only 
to satisfy their consciences/' Discontent was such that 
counter-revolution gained ground daily. One company had 
even taken the name of ** Dauphin/' and royalist songs 
were heard in camp. 

Napoleon saw at a glance all these difficulties, and set 
himself to ccMKjuer them. With his generals he was reserved 
and severe. ** It was necessary/' he explained afterward, 
** in order to command men so much older than myself/' 
His look and bearing quelled insubordination, restrained 
familiarity, even insj)ired fear. ** From his arrival," says 
Marmont, ** his attitude was that of a man born for power. 
It was i)lain to the least clairvoyant eyes that he knew how 
to compel obedience, and scarcely was he in authority before 
the line of a celebrated poet might have been api)lied to him: 

** ' Des cgaux? des longtcmps Mahomet n'en a plus.'" 

General Decrrs, who had known Napoleon well at Paris, 
hearing that he was going to pass through Toulon, where 
he was stationed, offered to present his comrades. '* I run," 
he says, ** full of eagerness and joy; the salon opens; I am 
about to spring fc^rward, when the attitude, the look, the 
sound of his voice are sufficient to stop me. There was noth- 
ing rude about him, but it was enough. From that time I 
was never tempted to pass the line which had been drawn 
for me." 

Lavalette says of his first interview with him : ** He looked 
weak, but his regard was so firm and so fixed that I felt 
myself turning pale when he spoke to me." Augereau goes 
to see him at Albenga, full of contempt for this favorite of 
Barras who has never known an action, determined on in- 
subordination. Bonaparte comes out, little, thin, round- 
shouldered, and gives Augereau, a giant among the generals, 


his orders. The big man backs out in a kind of terror. " He 
frightened me/' he tells Massena. ** His first glance crushed 

He quelled insubordination in the ranks by quick, severe 
punishment, but it was not long that he had insubordination. 
The army asked nothing but to act, and immediately they 
saw that they were to move. He had reached his post on 
March 22d; nineteen days later operations began. 

The theatre of action was along that portion of the mari- 
time Alps which runs parallel with the sea. Bonaparte held 
the coast and the mountains; and north, in the foot-hills, 
stretched from the Tende to Genoa, were the Austrians and 
their Sardinian allies. If the French were fully ten thou- 
sand inferior in number, their position was the stronger, for 
the enemy was scattered in a hilly country where it was 
difficult to unite their divisions. 

As Bonaparte faced his enemy, it was with a youthful 
zest and anticipation which explains much of what follows. 
** The two armies are in motion," he wrote Josephine, ** each 
trying to outwit the other. The more skilful will succeed. 
I am much pleased with Beaulieu. He manoeuvres very 
well, and is superior to his predecessor. I shall beat him, I 
hope, out of his boots.'' 

The first step in the campaign was a skilful stratagem. 
He spread rumors which made Beaulieu suspect that he in- 
tended marching on Genoa, and he threw out his lines in 
that direction. The Austrian took the feint as a genuine 
movement, and marched his left to the sea to cut oflF the 
French advance. But Bonaparte was not marching to 
Genoa, and, rapidly collecting his forces, he fell on the Aus- 
trian army at Montenotte on April 12th, and defeated it. 
The right and left of the allies were divided, and the centre 

By a series of clever feints, Bonaparte prevented the va- 


Mch left him only the Austrians to fight, and 
^Ht t(j fallow Beaulieu. who had fled beyond the 

s lie had made Beaulieu believe, three weeks 
t he was going to march on Genoa, he now de- 
l^s ti- the point where he proposes to cross the Po. 
1 lielieve it is at Valenza. When certain that 
a^l his eye on that point, Bonaparte marched 
Wit the river, and crossed at Placentia. If an 
J delay had not occurred in the passage, he would 
t lin the Austrian rear. As it was, Beaulieu took 
d withdrew the body of his army, after a slight re- 
[ to the French advance, across the Adda, leaving 
pve thousand men at Lodi. 
arte was jubilant. " We have crossed the Po," he 
e directory, " The second campaign has coin- 
Beaulieu is disconcerted ; he miscalculates, and 
ally falls into the snares I set for him. Perhaps he 
Jf to give battle, for he has both audacity and energy, 
pt genius. . . . Another victory, and we shall be 
s of Italy." 
Tiined to leave no enemies behind him, Bonaparte 
5^ marched against the twelve thousand men at Lodi. 
■town, lying on the right bank of the Adda, was guarded 
i small force of Austrians; but the mass of the enemy 
► on the left bank, at the end of a bridge some three 
idred and fifty feet in length, and commanded by a score 
Pmore of cannon. 

Rushing into the town on May loth the French drove 
' out the guarding force, and arrived at the bridge before the 
Austrians had time to destroy it. The French grenadiers 
pressed forward in a solid mass, but, when half way over, 
the cannon at the opposite end poured such a storm of shot 
at them t^l.^l the column wavered and fell back. Several 


generals in the ranks, Bonaparte at their head, rushed to the 
front of the force. The presence of the officers was enough 
to inspire the soldiers, and they swept across the bridge with 
such impetuosity that the Austrian line on the opposite bank 
allowed its batteries to be taken, and in a few moments was 
in retreat. ** Of all the actions in w^hich the soldiers under 
my command have been engaged," wrote Bonaparte to the 
Directory, ** none has ecjualled the tremendous passage of 
the bridge at Lodi. If we have lost but few soldiers, it was 
merely owing to the i)romptitu(le of our attacks and the 
effect produced c^n the enemy by the formidable fire from 
our invincible armv. Were I to name all the officers who 
distinguished themselves in this affair, I should be obliged 
to enumerate every carabinicr of the advanced guard, and 
almost every officer belonging to the staff.'' 

The Austrians now withdrew bevond the Mincio, and on 
the 15th of May the French entered Milan. The populace 
greeted their concjuerors as liberators, and for several days 
the army rejoiced in comforts which it had not known for 
years. While it was being feted, Bc^naparte was instituting 
the Lombard Republic, and trying to conciliate or outwit, 
as the case demanded, the nobles and clerg}'' outraged at the 
introduction of French ideas. It was not until the end of 
May that Lombardy was in a situation to permit Bonaparte 
to follow the Austrians. 

After Lodi. Beaulieu had led his army to the Mincio. As 
usual, his force was divided, the right being near Lake 
Garda, the left at Mantua, the centre about halfway between, 
at Valeggio. It was at this latter point that Bonaparte de- 
cided to attack them. Feigning to march on their right, he 
waited until his opponent had fallen into his trap, and then 
sprang on the weakened centre, broke it to pieces, and drove 
all but twelve thousand men, escaped to Mantua, into the 
Tyrol. In fifty days he had swept all but a remnant of the 



Austrians away from Italy. Two weeks later, having taken 
a strong position on the Adige, he began the siege of 

The French were victorious, but their position was pre- 
carious. Austria was preparing a new army. Between the 
victors and France lay a number of feeble Italian govern- 
ments whose friendship could not be depended upon. The 
populace of these states favored the French, for they brought 
promises of liberal government, of equality and fraternity. 
The nobles and clergy hated them for the same reason. It 
was evident that a victory of the Austrians would set all 
these petty princes on Bonaparte's heels. The Papal States 
to the south were plotting. Naples was an ally of Austria. 
Venice was neutral, but she could not be trusted. The 
English were off the coast, and might, at any moment, make 
an alliance which would place a formidable enemy on the 
French rear. 

While waiting for the arrival of the new Austrian army, 
Bonaparte set himself to lessening these dangers. He con- 
cluded a peace with Naples. Two divisions of the army 
were sent south, one to Bologna, the other into Tuscany. 
The people received the French with such joy that Rome 
was glad to purchase peace. Leghorn was taken. The 
malcontents in Milan were silenced. By the time a fresh 
Austrian army of sixty thousand men, under a new general, 
Wurmser, was ready to fight, Italy had been effectually 

The Austrians advanced against the French in three col- 
umns, one to the west of Lake Garda, under Quasdanovich, 
one on each side of the Adige, east of the lake, under Wurm- 
ser. Their plan was to attack the French outposts on each 
side of the lake simultaneously, and then envelop the army. 
The first movements were successful. The French on each 
side of the lake were driven back. Bonaparte's army was 


inferior to the one coming against him, but the skill with 
which he handled his forces and used the blunders of the 
enemy more than compensated for lack of numbers. Rais- 
ing the siege of Mantua, he concentrated his forces at the 
south of the lake in such a way as to prevent the reunion of 
the Austrians. Then, with uni)aralleled swiftness, he fell 
on the enemy piecemeal. Wherever he could engage a 
division he did so, providing his own force was sui)erior to 
that of the Austrians at the moment of the battle. Thus, 
on July 31st, at Lonato, he defeated Quasdanovich, though 
ni>t so decisivelv hut that the Austrian collected his division 
anil returned towards the same place, hoping to unite there 
with W'urmser, wlio had foolishly divided his divisions, 
sending one to Lonato and another to Castiglione, while he 
Inmself went off to Mantua to relieve the garrison there, 
lU^najKirto engaged the forces at Lonato and at Castiglione 
on the siunc day (August ^d), defeating them both, and 
then turnotl his whole army against the tody of Austrians 
under W'urmser, wIk^ by his time, had returned from his 
rvliol cxiHHlition at Mantua. On August Sth, at Castig- 
Hv»ne, Wurmser was iK'aten, driven over the Mincio and into 
the Tyn^l, In six days the campaign has been finished. 
** rhe Austrian army has vanished like a dream," Bonaparte 

\\t\^tc honu\ 

It h;ul vanishetl, true, but only for a day. Reenforce- 
UKitts wen* SiH>n sent, anil a new campaign started early in 
Sq^etulK^r, Leaving Davidovich in the Tyrol with twenty 
ttKnisaml men, W'urmser started down the Brenta with 
^wciuv si\ thous;\nd men, intending to fall on Bonaparte's 
t\\Ai\ cut him ti> piews, and relieve Mantua. But Bonaparte 
iVAst 4 pl«t^ **^' '^'^ ^*^^'" ^'"^ ^'"^^' ^"^' without waiting to find 
s>w whcrt^ W'uniiser was going, he started up the Adige. 
tM<ihhn< to attack the Austrians in the Tyrol, and join 
•iHf AV«w of the Rhine, then on the upper Danube. As it 


happened, Wurmser's plan was a hai)i)y one for Bonaparte. 
The French found less than half the Austrian army opposing 
them, and, after they had beaten it, discovered that they 
were actually on the rear of the other half. Of course Bona- 
parte did not lose the opportunity. He sped down the Brenta 
behind Wurmser, overtook him at Bassano on the 8th of 
September, and of course defeated him. The Austrians fled 
in terrible demoralization. Wurmser succeeded in reaching 
Mantua, where he united with the garrison. The sturdy old 
Austrian had the courage, in spite of his losses, to come out 
of Mantua and meet Bonaparte on the 15th, but he was de- 
feated again, and obliged to take refuge in the fortress. If 
the Austrians had been beaten repeatedly, they had no idea 
of yielding, and, in fact, there was apparently every reason 
to continue the struggle. The French army was in a most 
desperate condition. Its number was reduced to barely 
forty thousand, and this number was poorly supplied, and 
many of them were ill. Though living in the richest of 
countries, the rapacity and dishonesty of the army con- 
tractors were such that food reached the men half spoiled 
and in insufficient quantities, while the clothing supplied was 
pure shoddy. Many officers were laid up by wounds or 
fatigue; those who remained at their posts were discouraged, 
and threatening to resign. The Directory had tampered 
with Bonaparte's armistices and treaties until Naples and 
Rome were ready to spring upon the French; and Venice, 
if not openly hostile, was irritating the army in many ways. 
Bonaparte, in face of these difficulties, was in genuine 
despair : 

** Everything is being spoiled in Italy," he wrote the Directory. 
** The prestige of our forces is being lost. A policy which will give you 
friends among the princes as well as among the people, is necessary. 
Diminish your enemies. The influence of Rome is beyond calculation. 
It was a great mi strike to quarrel with that power. Had I been con- 
suhed I should have delayed negotiations as I did with Genoa and 


Venice. Whenever your general in Italy is not the centre of everything, 
you will run great risks. This language is not that of ambition; I 
have only too many honors, and my health is so impaired that I think 
I shall be forced to demand a successor. I can no longer get on horse- 
back. My courage alone remains, and that is not sufficient in a position 
like this." 

It was in such a situation that Bonaparte saw the Aus- 
trian force outside of Mantua, increased to fifty thousand 
men, and a new commander-in-chief, Alvinzi, put at its head. 
The Austrians advanced in two divisions, one down the 
Adige, the other by the Brenta. The French division which 
met the enemy at Trent and Bassano were driven back. In 
spite of his best efforts. Bonaparte was obliged to retire with 
his main army to Verona. Things looked serious. Alvinzi 
was pressing close to Verona, and the army on the Adige 
was slowly driving back the French division sent to hold it 
in check. If Davidovich and Alvinzi united, Bonaparte 
was lost. 

" Perhaps we are on the point of losing Italy,'' wrote 
Bonaparte to the Directory. ** In a few days we shall make 
a last effort.*' On November 14th this last effort was made. 
Alvinzi was close upon Verona, holding a position shut in by 
rivers and mountains on everv side, and from which there 
was but one exit, a narrow i)ass at his rear. The French 
were in Verona. 

On the night of the 14th of Noveml)er Bonaparte went 
quietly into camp. Early in the evening he gave orders to 
leave Verona, and took the road westward. It looked like 
a retreat. The French army believed it to be so, and began 
to say sorrowfully among themselves that Italy was lost. 
When far enough from Verona, to escaj)e the attention of 
the enemy, Bonaparte wheeled to the southeast. On the 
morning of the 15th he crossed the Adige, intending, if pos- 
sible, to reach the defile by which alone Alvinzi could escape 
from his position. The country into which his army 


marched was a morass crossed bv two causewavs. The 
points which it was necessary to take to command the defile 
were the town of Areola and a bridge over the rapid stream 
on which the town lay. The Austrians discovered the plan, 
and hastened out to (lisi)ute Areola and the bridge. All 
day long the two armies fought desperately, Bonaparte and 
his generals putting themselves at the head of their colunms 
and doing the work of comnKui soldiers. But at night 
Areola was not taken, and the French retired to the right 
bank of the Adige. only to return on the i6th to reengage 
Alvinzi, who, fearful lest his retreat I)e cut off, had with- 
drawn his army from near Verona, and had taken a position 
at Areola. For two days the French struggled with the 
Austrians. wrenching the victory from them before the close 
of the 17th, and sending them Hying towards Bassano. 
Bonaparte and his army returned to Verona, but this time it 
was by the gate which the Austrians, three days before, were 
pointing out as the place where they should enter. 

It was a month and a half before the Austrians could col- 
lect a fifth army to send against the French. Bonaparte, 
tormented on every side by threatened uprisings in Italy: 
opposed by the Directory, who wanted to make peace; and 
distressed by the condition of his army, worked incessantly 
to strengthen his relations, (juiet his enemies, and restore his 
army. When the Austrians, some forty-five thousand 
strong, advanced in January, 1797, against him, he had a 
force of about thirty-five thousand men ready to meet them. 
Some ten thousand of his army were watching W'urmser 
and twenty thousand Austrians shut up at Mantua. 

Alvinzi had planned his attack skilfully. Advancing 
with twenty-eight thousand men by the Adige, he sent 
seventeen thousand under Provera to approach Verona from 
the east. The two (hvisions were to approach secretly, and 
to strike simultaneously. 


At first Bonaparte was uncertain of the position of the 
main body of the enemy. Sending out feelers in every direc- 
tion, he became convinced that it must be that it approached 
Rivoli. Leaving a force at Verona to hold back Provera, 
he concentrated his army in a single night on the plateau of 
Rivoli, and on the morning of January 14th advanced to 
the attack. The struggle at Rivoli lasted two days. Noth- 
ing but Bonaparte's masterly tactics won it, for the odds 
were greatly against him. His victory, however, was com- 
plete. Of the twenty-eight thousand Austrians brought to 
the field, less than half escaped. 

While his battle was waging, Bonaparte was also directing 
the fight with Provera, who was intent upon reaching Man- 
tua and attacking the French besiegers on the rear, while 
Wurmser left the city and engaged them in front. The at- 
tack had begun, but Bonaparte had foreseen the move, and 
sent a division to the relief of his men. This battle, known 
as La Favorita, destroved Provera's division of the Austrian 
army, and so discouraged Wurmser, whose army was ter- 
ribly reduced by sickness and starvation, that he surrendered 
on February 2d. 

The Austrians were driven utterly from Italy, but Bona- 
parte had no time to rest. The Papal States and the various 
aristocratic parties of southern Italy were threatening to rise 
against the French. The spirit of independence and revolt 
which the invaders were bringing into the country could not 
but weaken clerical and monarchical institutions. An active 
enemy to the south would have been a serious hindrance 
to Napoleon, and he marched into the Papal States. A fort- 
night was sufficient to silence the threats of his enemies, and 
on February 19. 1797, he signed with the Pope the treaty 
of Tolentino. The ])eace was no sooner made than he started 
again against the Austrians. 

When Mantua fell, and Austria saw herself driven from 


Italy, she had called her ablest general, the Archduke Charles, 
from the Rhine, and given him an army of over one hundred 
thousand men to lead against Bonaparte. The French had 
been reenforced to some seventy thousand, and though 
twenty thousand were necessary to keep Italy (luiet, Bona- 
parte had a fine army, and he led it confidently to meet the 
main body of the enemy, which had been sent south to pro- 
tect Trieste. Early in March he crossed the Tagliamento» 
and in a series of contests, in which he was uniformly sue- 
cessful, he drove his opponent back, step by step, until 
Vienna itself was in sight, and in April an armistice was 
signed. In May the French took possession of Venice, 
which had refused a French alliance, and which was playing 
a perfidious ])art, in Bonaparte's judgment, and a republic 
on the French model was established. 

Italy and Austria, worn out and discouraged by this " war 
of principle,'* as Napoleon called it, at last compromised, 
and on October 17th, one year, seven months, and seven 
days after he left Paris, Napoleon signed the treaty of 
Campo Formic). By this treaty France gained the frontier 
of the Rhine and the Low Countries to the mouth of the 
Scheldt. Austria was given Venice, and a republic called 
the Cisalpine was formed from Reggio, Modena, Lombardy, 
and a part of the States of the Pope. 

The military genius that this twenty-seven-year-old com- 
mander had shown in the campaign in Italy bewildered his 
enemies and thrilled his friends. 

*' Things go on very badly," said an Austrian veteran 
taken at Lodi. '* No one seems to know what he is about. 
The French general is a young blockhead who knows noth- 
ing of the regular rules of war. Sometimes he is on our 
right, at others on our left ; nov/ in front, and presently in 
our rear. This mode of w^arfare is contrary to all system, 
and utterly insufferable." 


It is certain that if Napoleon's opponents never knew what 
he was going to do, if his generals themselves were fre- 
quently uncertain, it being his practice to hold his peace 
about his plans, he himself had definite rules of warfare. 
The most important of these were : 

" Attacks should not be scattered, but should be concen- 

" Always be superior to the enemy at the point of at- 

** Time is everything." 

To these formulated rules he joined marvelous fertility 
in stratagem. The feint by which, at the beginning of the 
campaign, he had enticed Beaulieu to march on Genoa, and 
that by which, a few days later, he had induced him to 
place his army near Valenza, were masterpieces in their 

His quick-wittedness in emergency frequently saved him 
from disaster. Thus, on August 4th, in the midst of the 
excitement of the contest, Bonaparte went to Lonato to see 
what troops could be drawn from there. On entering he 
was greatly surprised to receive an Austrian parlemcntaire, 
who called on the commandant of Lonato to surrender, be- 
cause the French were surrounded. Bonaparte saw at once 
that the Austrians could be nothing but a division which had 
been cut off and was seeking escape ; but he was embarrassed, 
for there were only twelve hundred men at Lonato. Sending 
for the man, he had his eyes unbandaged, and told him that 
if his commander had the presumption to capture the gen- 
eral-in-chief of the army of Italy he might advance; that 
the Austrian division ought to have known that he was at 
Lonato with his whole army; and he added that if they did 
not lay down their arms in eight minutes he would not 
spare a man. This audacity saved Bonaparte, and won him 
four thousand prisoners with guns and cavalry. 


His fertility in stratagem, his rapidity of action, his au- 
dacity in attack, bewildered and demoralized the enemy, 
but it raised the enthusiasm of his imaginative Southern 
troops to the highest pitch. 

He insisted in this campaign on one other rule : ** Unity 
of command is necessary to assure success.'* After his de- 
feat of the Piedmontese, the Directory ordered him. May 7, 
1796, to divide his command with Kellermann. Napoleon 
answered : 

" I believe it most impolitic to divide the army of Italy in two parts. 
It is quite as much against the interests of the republic to place two 
different generals over it. . . . 

•* A single general is not only necessary, but also it is essential that 
nothing trouble him in his march and operations. I have conducted 
this campaign without consulting any one. I should have done nothing 
of value if I had been obliged to reconcile my plans with those of 
another. I have gained advantage over superior forces and when 
stripped of everything myself, because persuaded that your confidence 
was in me. My action has been as prompt as my thought. 

** If you impose hindrances of all sorts upon me, if I must refer 
every step to government commissioners, if they have the right to change 
my movements, of taking from me or of sending me troops, expect no 
more of any value. If you enfeeble your means by dividing your forces, 
if you break the unity of military thought in Italy, I tell you sorrow- 
fully you will lose the happiest opportunity of imposing laws on Italy. 

•* In the condition of the affairs of the republic in Italy, it is indis- 
pensable that you have a general that has your entire confidence. If it 
is not I. I am sorry for it. but I shall redouble my zeal to merit your 
esteem in the post you confide to mc. Each one has his own way of 
carrying on war. General Kellermann has more experience and will 
do it better than I, but both together will do it very badly. 

** I can only render the services essential to the country when invested 
entirely and absolutely with your confidence." 

He remained in charge, and throughout the rest of the 
campaign continued to act more and more independently of 
the Directory, even dictating terms of peace to please him- 

It was in this Italian campaign that the almost super- 
stitious adoration which Napoleon's soldiers and most of his 


generals felt for him began. Brilliant generalship was not 
the only reason for this. It was due largely to his personal 
courage, which they had discovered at Lodi. A charge had 
been ordered across a wooden bridge swept by thirty pieces 
of cannon, and beyond was the Austrian army. The men 
hesitated, Napoleon sprang to their head and led them into 
the thickest of the fire. From that day he was known among 
them as the " Little Corporal.'' He had won them by the 
quality which appeals most deeply to a soldier in the ranks — 
contempt of death. Such was their devotion to him that 
they gladly exposed their lives if they saw him in danger. 
There were several such cases in the battle of Areola. The 
first day, when Bonaparte was exposing himself in an ad- 
vance, his aide-de-camp, Colonel Muiron, saw that he was 
in imminent danger. Throwing himself before Bonaparte, 
the colonel covered him with his body, receiving a wound 
which was destined for the general. The brave fellow's 
blood spurted into Bonaparte's face. He literally gave his 
life to save his commander's. The same day, in a final effort 
to take Areola, Bonaparte seized a flag, rushed on the 
bridge, and planted it there. His column reached the middle 
of the bridge, but there it was broken by the enemy's flank- 
ing fire. The grenadiers at the head, finding themselves 
deserted by the rear, were compelled to retreat ; but, critical 
as their position was, they refused to abandon their general. 
They seized him by his arms, by his clothes, and dragged 
him with them through shot and smoke. When one fell out 
wounded, another pressed to his place. Precipitated into 
the morass, Bonaparte sank. The enemy were surrounding 
him when the grenadiers perceived his danger. A cry was 
raised, ** Forward, soldiers, to save the General ! " and im- 
mediately they fell upon the Austrians with such fury that 
they drove them oflf, dragged out their hero, and bore him to 
a safe place. 


His addresses never failed to stir them to action and en- 
thusiasm. They were oratorical, prophetic, and abounded 
in phrases which the soldiers never forgot. Such was his 
address at Milan : 

"Soldiers! you have precipitated yourselves like a torrent from the 
summit of the Apennines; you have driven back and dispersed all that 
opposed your march. Piedmont, liberated from Austrian tyranny, has 
yielded to her natural sentiments of peace and amity towards France. 
Milan is yours, and the Republican flag floats throughout Lombardy, 
while the Dukes of Modena and Parma owe their political existence 
solely to your generosity. The army which so haughtily menaced you, 
finds no barrier to secure it from your courage. The Po, the Ticino, 
and the Adda have been unable to arrest your courage for a single day. 
Those boasted ramparts of Italy proved insufficient. You have sur- 
mounted them as rapidly as you cleared the Apennines. So much suc- 
cess has diffused joy through the bosom of your country. Yes, soldiers, 
you have done well; but is there nothing more for you to accomplish? 
Shall it be said of us that we knew how to conquer, but knew not how 
to profit by victory? Shall posterity reproach us with having found a 
Capua in Lombardy? But I see you rush to arms; unmanly repose 
wearies you. and the days lost to glory arc lost to happiness. 

" Let us set forward. We have still forced marches to perform, 
enemies to conquer, laurels to gather, and injuries to avenge. Let those 
tremble who have whetted the poniards of civil war in France; who 
have, like dastards, assassinated our ministers, and burned our ships in 
Toulon. The hour of vengeance is arrived, but let the people be 
tranquil. We are the friends of all nations, particularly the descend- 
ants of the Brutuses. the Scipios, and those illustrious persons we have 
chosen for our models. To restore the Capitol, replace with honor the 
statues of the heroes who rendered it renowned, and rouse the Roman 
people, become torpid by so many ages of slavery — shall, will, be the 
fruit of your victories. You will then return to your homes, and your 
fellow-citizens when pointing to you will say. * He was of the army of 
Italy: " 

Such was his address in March, before the final campaign 
against the Austrians : 

" You have been victorious in fourteen pitched battles and sixty-six 
combats; you have taken one hundred thousand prisoners, five hundred 
pieces of large cannon and two thousand pieces of smaller, four equip- 
ages for bridge pontoons. The country has nourished you. paid you 


during your campaign, and you have beside that sent thirty millions 
from the public treasury to Paris. You have enriched the Museum of 
Paris with three hundred chefs-d'oeuvre of ancient and modern Italy, 
which it has taken thirty ages to produce. You have conquered the most 
beautiful country of Europe. The French colors float for the first time 
upon the borders of the Adriatic. The kings of Sardinia and Naples, 
the Pope, the Duke of Parma have become allies. You have chased 
the English from Leghorn. Genoa, and Corsica. You have yet to march 
against the Emperor of Austria." 

His approval was their greatest joy. Let him speak a 
word of praise to a regiment, and they embroidered it on 
their banners. ** I was at ease, the Thirty-second was 
there/' was on the flag of that regiment. Over the Fifty- 
seventh floated a name Napoleon had called them by, " The 
terrible Fiftv-seventh.'* 

His displeasure was a greater spur than his approval. He 
said to a corps which had retreated in disorder : '* Soldiers* 
you have displeased me. You have shown neither c(nirage 
nor constancy, but have yielded positions where a handful of 
men might have defied an army. You are no longer French 
soldiers. Let it be written on their colors, * They no longer 
form part of the Army of Italy.' " A veteran pleaded that 
they be placed in the van, and during the rest of the cam- 
paign no regiment was more distinguished. 

The effect of his genius was as great on his generals as on 
his troops. They were dazzled by his stratagems and man- 
oeuvres, inspired by his imagination. ** There li'cu so miieh 
of the future in him," is Marmont's ex])ressive explanation. 
They could believe anything of him. A remarkable set of 
men they were to have as followers and friends — Augereau, 
Massena, Berthier, Marmont, Junot. 

The people and the government in Paris had begun to 
believe in him, as did the Army of Italy. He not only sent 
flags and reports of victory; he sent money and works of 
art. Impoverished as the Directory was, the sums which 


came from Italy were a reason for not interfering with the 
high hand the young general carried in his campaigns and 

Never before had France received such letters from a 
general. Now he announces that he has sent ** twenty first 
masters, from Correggio to Michael Angelo ; " now, *' a 
dozen millions of money ; " now, two or three millions in 
jewels and diamonds to be sold in I^aris. In return he asks 
onlv for men and officers " who have fire and a firm reso- 
lution not to make learned retreats/' 

The entry into Paris of the first art accjuisitions made a 
profound impression on the people: 

*' The procession of enormous c.irs. drawn by richly caparisoned 
horses, wa*^ divided into four sections. First came trunks filled with 
books, manuscripts. . . . including the antiques of Josephus. on 
papyrus, with works in the handwriting of Galileo. . . . Then fol- 
lowed collections of mineral products. . . . For the occasion were 
added wagons laden with iron cages containing lions, tigers, panthers, 
over which waved enormous palm branches and all kinds of exotic 
shrubs. Afterward^ rolled along chariots bearing pictures carefully 
packed, but with the names nf the m<)>t important inscribed in large 
letters on the outside, as The Transfiguration by Raphael: The Christ, 
by Titian. The number was great, the value greater. When these 
trophies had passed, amid the applause of an excited crowd, a heavy 
rumbling announced the approach of massive carts bearing statues and 
marble groups: the Apollo Belvidere: the Nine Muses; the Laocoon. 
. . . The Venus de Medici was eventually added, decked with bou- 
quets, crowns of flowers, flags taken from the enemy, and French, 
Italian, and Greek inscriptions. Detachments of cavalry and infantry, 
colors flying, drums beating, music playing, marched at intervals; the 
members of the newly established Institute fell into line; artists and 
savants; and the singers of the theatres made the air ring with na- 
tional hymns. This procession marched through all Paris, and at the 
Champ de Mars defiled before the five members of the Directory, sur- 
rounded by their subordinate officers." 

The practice of sending home works of art, begim in the 
Italian campaigii, Napoleon continued throughout his mili- 
tary career, and the art of France owes much to the educa- 
tion thus given the artists of the first part of this century. 


His agents ransacked Italy, Spain, Germany, and Flan- 
ders for chefs-d'oeuvre. When entering a country one of 
the first things he did was to collect information about its 
chief art objects, in order to demand them in case of victory, 
for it was by treaty that they were usually obtained. 
Among the works of art which Napoleon sent to Paris were 
twenty-five Raphaels, twenty-three Titians, fifty-three 
Rubenses, thirty-three Van Dykes, thirty-one Rembrandts. 

In Italy rose Napoleon's " star," that mysterious guide 
which he followed from Lodi to Waterloo. Here was bom 
that faith in him and his future, that belief that he 
" marched under the protection of the goddess of fortune 
and of war/' that confidence that he was endowed with a 
** good genius." 

He called Lx)di the birthplace of his faith. " Ven- 
demiaire and even Montenotte did not make me believe my- 
self a superior man. It was only after Lodi that it came 
into mv head that I could become a decisive actor on our 
political field. Then was born the first spark of high ambi- 

Trained in a religion full of mysticism, taught to believe 
in signs, guided by a *' star," there is a tinge of superstition 
throughout his active, practical, hardworking life. Mar- 
mont tells that one day while in Italy the glass over the por- 
trait of his wife, which he always wore, was broken. 

*' He turned frightfully pale, and the impression upon 
him was most sorrowful. * Marmont/ he said, * my wife 
is very ill or she is unfaithful.' " There are many similar 
anecdotes to show his dependence upon and confidence in 

In a campaign of such achievements as that in Italy there 
seems to be no time for love, and yet love was never more 
imperative, more absorbing, in Napoleon's life than during 
this period. 

"Kngrai-ed by Henry Kiclucr (rum ilic ctlcbriicii 
liuat I.V Ci.Taicl.i, Inlcly liniiiiilil fruni 1-arts an.l 
in Ms iu>!^H-<.si,>n. |-ii1>1ii>1ir.l June i. iKoi. >>y II. 
Hiehler. Xi., .-6 Xenmin Sir.el, CKf,.r,l Slnil." Tlii* 

1 K-nic. 


ion in lilt tily. and went 1.. Paris. m-Iick he 
to receive ai<I fri<m the I irst Consul. He matle 
at, of Ht'eral tiencrals- -llcrllncr. MasMna. and 
latle—hut at nnlers did not mit1tii>1y, and N'a- 
Jid nnttiins for iiim. he became incenied 

I plot 


" Oh. my adorable wife," he wrote Josephine in April, ** I do not 
know what fate awaits me, but if it keeps nie longer from you, I 
shall not be able to endure it ; my courage will not hold out to that 
point. There was a time when I was proud of my courage; and when 
I thought of the harm that men might do me, of the lot that my 
destiny might reserve for me, I looked at the most terrible misfortunes 
without a quiver, with no surprise. But now, the thought that my 
Josephine may be in trouble, that she may be ill. and, above all, the 
cruel, fatal thought that .she may Iovjc me less, inflicts torture in my 
soul, stops the beating of my heart, makes me .sad and dejected, robs 
me of even the courage of fury and despair. I often used to say. 
* Man can do no harm to one who is willing to die; ' but now, to die 
without being loved by you. to die without this certainty, is the torture 
of hell ; it is the vivid and cru.shing image of total annihilation. It 
seems to me as if I were choking. My only companion, you who have 
been chosen by fate to make with mc the painful journey of life, the 
day when I .shall no longer possess your heart will be that when for 
me the world shall have lost all warmth and all its vegetation. . . . 
I will stop, my sweet pet ; my soul is sad. I am very tired, my mind 
is worn out, I am sick of men. I have good reason for hating them. 
They separate me fn^m my love." 

Josephine was indifferent to this strong passion. ** How 
queer Bonaparte is ! '' she said coldly at the evidences of his 
affection which he poured upon her; and when, after a few 
weeks separation, lie began to implore her to j(^in him she 
hesitated, made excuses, tried in every possible way to evade 
his wish. It was not strange that a woman of her indolent 
nature, loving flattery, having no passion but for amuse- 
ment, reckless expenditure, and her own ease, should prefer 
life in Paris. There she shared with Madame Tallien the 
adoration which the Parisian world is always bestowing on 
some fair woman. At opera and ball she was the centre of 
attraction; even in the street the people knew her. Notre 
Dame des Victoires was the name they gave her. 

In desperation at her indifference. Napoleon finally wrote 
her. in June, from Tortona : 

" My life is a perpetual nightmare. A black presentiment makes 
breathing difficult. I am no longer alive; I have lost more than life. 


Oiore than happiness, more than peace ; I am aim 
I am sending you a courier. He will stay only four boors ia f^ns, 
and then mil bring nie yvai answer. Write to me loi pagn ; that is 
the only thing that can con<oli: me in the leasL You are ill : joa knc 
me; I have distressed you: you are with child: and 1 do not tec j^ml. 
... I have treated you m ill thai I do net kDcnt bow to aa nyMfi 
righi in yovT ej-es. I have been blaming jou for saying ia ^tm. 
and yod have been ill there. Forgive me. my dear: the ki«e ■fiib wbidi 
TOO have filled me ha< robbed me of my reaMin. and I «haH nerer i^- 
cover it. It is a malady trom which there i« no r e c o t ei?. Uy (vr- 
bodings are so gloomy that all 1 ask is to see you. lo bolid jia ■■ ^r 
arms for two hotirs. and that we may die together. Wk> b takilV 
^uv of ytm ? I suppose that you have scut for Horteose ; 1 love ttae 4^ 
diU a ihoosand ti«ac$ better since I think that ^bc may txmxAt jnm S 
Eltle. As for tnc. I am w-ithout consolation, rest and bofic sni I VK 
Bcain the mcsjenget whcin 1 am "Ending to yoo. and miil yvm i i/twim W< 
■K in a long letter just what is the matter with yon. and bow lul om t ft 
is. If there were any danger. I warn yon that I shotdd start at CMM 
far ftris. - . . You ! you ! — and the rest of the wnrtd wfl! not cxiS 
far me any more than if it had been annihilated. 1 care far bnaorliK- 
^mae yoo care for it : for victory-, becaasc it brings yaa pkasatc; «dKr~ 
wiK I shoold abandon everything to ihiow mrsrlf at yo«r faa." 

After this letter Josephine consented to go to Italy, but 
Ac Wt Paris weeping as if going to her executioD. Oooe 
at Uilaii. where she held almost a cotirt. she reroA-ered her 
pi yri y . and the two were very happy for a time. Bm it 
Ad vat last. Napoleon. obHged to be on the mardi. wcaM 
— T*— - Josephine to come to him here and there, aotl ooce 
riKoafTOM'ly escaped with her hfe when tr>-ing to get away 
{nm tbeanny. 

Wbere\er she was installed she had a circle ot adorers 
ahpHt bcr. and as a result she neglected writing to bcr hos- 
taad. Reprrjacbes and entreaties filled his letters He 
l ag ged bcr for only a line, and he implored ber that ^fae be 

' Yanr itBm are ai aid ai fifty years of age ; <mk wonld ftnk tbc? 
bd fcns wrinai after we had been married fifteen yiars. Tfao a:n 
Ml ol tbe frvodline*? and feelings of life's winter. . . . WbaK 
mart can yoo do to diitnss me? Stop loving me? Tbat jm« ksvc al- 


ready done. Hate me? Well, I wish you would; everything degrades 
me except hatred; but indifference, with a calm pulse, fixed eyes, 
monotonous walk! ... A thousand kisses, tender, like my heart.'' 

It was not merely indolence and indiflference that caused 
Josephine's neglect. It was coquetry frequently, and Na- 
poleon, informed by his couriers as to whom she received 
at Milan or Genoa, and of the pleasures she enjoyed, was 
jealous with all the force of his nature. More than one 
young officer who dared pay homage to Josephine in this cam- 
paign was banished ** by order of the commander-in-chief." 
Reaching Milan once, unexpectedly, he found her gone. 
His disappointment was bitter. 

" I reached Milan, rushed to ycur rooms, having thrown up every- 
thing to see you. to press you to my heart — you were not there; you 
arc traveling about from one town to another, amusing yourself with 
balls. My unhappiness is inconceivable. . Don't put 

yourself out; pursue your pleasure; happiness is made for you." 

It was between such extremes of triumphant love and 
black despair that Napoleon lived throughout the Italian 

— ^ 

Engravcil in 1S03 hy Godefroy, after Isabel'. 

■di* a Madame Bonaparte." 




IN December, 1797, he returned to Paris. His whole 
family were collected there, forming a ** Bonaparte 
colony," as the Parisians called it. There were Joseph 
and his wife; Lucien, now married to Christine Boyer, his 
old landlord's daughter, a marriage Napoleon never for- 
gave; Eliza, now Madame Bacciochi : Pauline, now Madame 
Leclerc. Madame Letitia was in the city, with Caroline; 
Louis and Jerome were still in school. Josephine had her 
daughter Hortense, a girl of thirteen, with her. Her son 
Eugene, though but fifteen years old, was away on a mission 
for Napoleon, who, in spite of the boy's youth, had already 
taken him into his confidence. According to Napoleon's ex- 
press desire, all the family lived in great simplicity. 

The return to Paris of the commander-in-chief of the 
Army of Italy was the signal for a popular ovation. The 
Directory gave him every honor, changing the name of the 
street in which he lived to rue dc la Victoirc, and making 
him a member of the Institute; but, conscious of its feeble- 
ness, and inspired by that suspicion which since the Revolu- 
tion began had caused the ruin of so many men, it planned 
to get rid of him. 

Of the coalition against France, formed in 1793, one mem- 
ber alone remained in arms — England. Napoleon was to be 
sent against her. An invasion of the island was first dis- 
cussed, and he made an examination of the north coast. 



His report was adverse, and he substituted a plan for the in- 
vasion of Egypt — an old idea in the French government. 

The Directory gladly accepted the change, and Napoleon 
was made commander-in-chief of the Army of Egypt. On 
the 4th of May he left Paris for Toulon. 

To Napoleon this expedition was a merciful escape. He 
once said to Madame Remusat : 

" In Paris, and Paris is France, they never can take the smallest in- 
terest in things, if they do not take it in persons. . . . The great 
difficulty of the Directory was that no one cared about them, and that 
people began to care too much about me. This was why I conceived 
the happy idea of going to Egypt." 

He was under the influence, too, of his imagination ; the 
Orient had always tempted him. It is certain that he went 
away with gigantic projects — nothing less than to conquer 
the whole of the East, and to become its ruler and lawgiver. 

" I dreamed of all sorts of things, and I saw a way of carrying all 
my projects into practical execution. I would create a new religion. 
I saw myself in Asia, upon an elephant, wearing a turban, and hold- 
ing in my hand a new Koran which I had myself composed. I would 
have united in my enterprise the experiences of two hemispheres, ex- 
ploring for my benefit and instruction all history, attacking the power 
of England in the Indies, and renewing, by their conquest, my rela- 
tions with old Europe. The time I passed in Egypt was the most 
delightful period of my life, for it was the most ideal." 

His friends, watching his irritation during the days be- 
fore the campaign had been decided upon, said : ** A free 
flight in space is what such wings demand. He will die here. 
He must go." He himself said : " Paris weighs on me like 
a leaden mantle.'' 

Napoleon sailed from France on May 19, 1798; on June 
9th he reached Malta, and won for France ** the strongest 
place in Europe." July 2d he entered Alexandria. On 
July 23d he entered Cairo, after the famous battle of the 


The French fleet h^d remained in Aboukir Bay after land- 
ing the army, and on August ist was attacked by Nelson. 
Napoleon had not realized, before this battle, the power of 
the English on the sea. He knew nothing of Nelson*s 
genius. The destruction of his fleet, and the consciousness 
that he and his army were prisoners in the Orient, opened 
his eyes to the greatest weakness of France. 

The winter was spent in reorganizing the government of 
Egypt and in scientific work. Over one hundred scientists 
had been added to the Army of Egypt, including some of 
the most eminent men of the day : Monge, Geoflfroy-St.-Hi- 
laire, Berthollet, Fourier, and Denon. From their arrival 
every opportunity was given them to carry on their work. 
To stimulate them. Napoleon founded the Institute of Egypt, 
in which membership was granted as a reward for serv- 

These scientists went out in every direction, pushing their 
investigations up the Nile as far as Philoe, tracing the bed 
of the old canal from Suez to the Nile, unearthing ancient 
monuments, making collections of the flora and fauna, ex- 
amining in detail the arts and industries of the people. Every- 
thing, from the inscription on the Rosetta Stone to the in- 
cubation of chickens, received their attention. On the re- 
turn of the expedition, their researches were published in a 
magnificent work called ** Description de TEgypte." The 
information gathered by the French at this time gave a 
great impetus to the study of Egyptology, and their in- 
vestigations on the old Suez canal led directly to the modern 

The peaceful work of science and law-giving which Na- 
poleon was conducting in Egypt was interrupted by the 
news that the Porte had declared war against France, and 
that two Turkish armies were on their way to Egypt. In 
March he set off to Syria to meet the first. 

ie summit of Ihrsc Pynmiils forty 
you." In the General's fscorl an Murat. his head 
tightly; and aflfr him, in ordci, Duroc. Sulkowski. 
le de neauhamai>. then siib-Ueutenant. all on horn- 

Kv» ii to "nc of his Bcocrals. and it did not reappear in Pari* until 1B3J. 
IS no«' in the mlliry at Vereailles. Groa regsrded thii picture as hia be«t 

ending in a retreat 
in tlie rear, hut by 

I for Xapolemi. It 

[| realm for himself, of a 

tcrranean fur France. 

tl'Acre," he told his brother 

" 1 think my imagination 

[le words are those of the man 

'Hire was a* profound as his 

from Syria, he learned that 

near the Bay of Alxmkir. He 

Hted it completely. In the ex- 

nftcr the battle, a bundle of 

- liands. It was the first news 

: . I - from France, and sad news it 

n snv.isiun of Austrians and Russians 

iii'i-iiiry discredited and tottering, 

empire of his imagination had fallen, 

in Fnrope a kingdom awaited him? He 

Igypt at nnce, and with the greatest secrecy 

dq)arture. The army was turned over to 

illi four small vessels he sailed for France 

August 22, 1799. On October l6th he was 

Wdng time nothing had been heard of Xajwlenn in 

The people said he had been eNiled by the jealous 

His disappearance into the Orient had all the 

r and fascination of an Eastern tale. His sudden 

SSrance had something of the heroic in it. He came 

j, god from Olympus, unheralded, but at the critical 

' it. 

joy of the people, who at that day certainty preferred 


a hero to suffrage, was spontaneous and sincere. His 
journey from the coast to Paris was a triumphal march. 
Lc rctour dti heros was the word in everybody's mouth. On 
every side the people cried : ** You alone can save the coun- 
try. It is perishing without you. Take the reins of govern- 

At Paris he found the government waiting to be over- 
thrown. ** A brain and a sword '' was all that was needed 
to carry out a coup cVetat organized while he was still in 
Africa. Everybody recognized him as the man for the hour. 
A large part of the military force in Paris was devoted to 
him. His two brothers, Lucien and Joseph, were in posi- 
tions of influence, the former president of the Five Hundred, 
as one of the two chambers was called. All that was most 
distinguished in the political, military, legal, and artistic 
circles of Paris rallied to him. Among the men who sup- 
ported him were Talleyrand, Sieves, Chenier, Roederer, 
Monge, Cambaceres, Moreau, Berthier, Murat. 

On the i8th Brumaire (the 9th of November), 1799, ^^e 
plot culminated, and Napoleon was recognized as the tem- 
porary Dictator of France. 

The private sorrow to which Napoleon returned, was as 
great as the public glory. During the campaign in Egypt 
he had learned beyond a doubt that Josephine's coquetry had 
become open folly, and that a young officer, Hippolyte 
Charles, whom he had dismissed from the Army of Italy 
two years before, was installed at Malmaison. The liaison 
was so scandalous that Gohier, the president of the Direc- 
tory, advised Josephine to get a divorce from Napoleon and 
marry Charles. 

These rumors reached Egypt, and Napoleon, in despair, 
even talked them over with Eugene de Beauharnais. The 
boy defended his mother, and for a time succeeded in quiet- 
ing Napoleon's resentment. At last, however, he learned 


in a talk with Junot that the gossip was true. He lost all 
control of himself, and declared he would have a divorce. 
The idea was abandoned, but the love and reverence he had 
given Josephine were dead. From that time she had no 
empire over his heart, no power to inspire him to action or 
to enthusiasm. 

When he landed in France from Egypt, Josephine, fore- 
seeing a storm, started out to meet him at Lyons. Unfor- 
tunately she took one road and Napoleon another, and when 
he reached Paris at six o'clock in the morning he found no 
one at home. When Josephine arrived Napoleon refused 
to see her, and it was three days before he relented. Then 
his forgiveness was due to the intercession of Hortense 
and Eugene, to both of whom he was warmly attached. 

But if he consented to pardon, he could never give again 
the passionate affection which he once had felt for her. He 
ceased to be a lover, and iDCcame a commonplace, tolerant, 
indulgent, bourgeois husband, upon whom his wife, in 
matters of importance, had no influence. Josephine was 
hereafter the suppliant, but she never regained the noble 
kingdom she had despised. 

Napoleon's domestic sorrow weakened in no way his 
activity and vigor in public affairs. He realized that, if 
he would keep his place in the hearts and confidence of the 
people, he must do something to show his strength, and 
peace was the gift he proposed to make to the nation. 
When he returned he found a civil war raging in La 
Vendee. Before February he had ended it. All over 
France brigandage had made life and property uncertain. It 
was stopped by his new regime. 

Two foreign enemies only remained at war with France 
— Austria and England. He offered them peace. It was 
refused. Nothing remained but to compel it. The Aus- 
trians were first engaged. They had two armies in the field ; 



,. ^..t>C. O- T„. P«>T 

By A. 

aii«tp ron.icr. Th€ CouneiUors 

of Slite 

havinR assembled in the 

hall v.±K 

harf h«n arranB«i for .he c«:c 

First riinsul o|«ned the 

cl h«[d the oath taken by Ihe 


t (nnanc«). (rtnteaume 


Roedrrer (interior). The first 


drew up ind lisned Iwo 


ons. to the Fvench iwople jnd 

o the 3 

my. The Second Consul. 


*s, »nd the Third Consul. Uhr 

present at the meetio«. 

Locri. K 

rUcirt-gfnfral d» Co^^^il d-Etai 


ed Ibe protlslcrbal. Thim 


one on the Rhine, against which Moreau was sent, the 
other in Italy — now lost to France — besieging the French 
shut up in Genoa. 

Moreau conducted the cami)aign in the Rhine countries 
with skill, fighting two successful battles, and driving his 
opponent from Ulm. 

Napoleon decided that he would himself carry on the 
Italian campaign, but of that he said nothing in Paris. His 
army was quietly brought together as a reserve force ; then 
suddenlv, on ^lav 6, 1800, he left Paris for Geneva. Im- 
mediately his plan became evident. It was nothing else than 
to cross the Ali)s and fall upon the rear of the Austrians, 
then besieging Genoa. 

Such an undertaking was a verital le coup dc theatre. Its 
accomplishment was not less brilliant than its conception. 
Three princij)al passes lead from Switzerland into Italy: 
Mont Cenis, the Great Saint Bernard, and the Mount Saint 
Gothard. The last was alreadv held bv the Austrians. The 
first is the westernmost, and here Napoleon directed the 
attention of General ^lelas, the Austrian commander. The 
central, or Mount Saint Bernard, Pass was left almost de- 
fenceless, and here the French army was led across, a passage 
surrounded by enormous difficulties, particularly for the 
artillery, which had to be taken to pieces and carried or 
dragged by the men. 

Save the delav which the enemv caused the French at 
Fort Bard, where five hundred men stopped the entire army. 
Napoleon met with no serious resistance in entering Italy. 
Indeed, the Austrians treated the fierce with contempt, de- 
claring that it was not the First Consul who led it, but an 
adventurer, and that the army was not made up of French, 
but of refugee Italians. 

This rumor was soon known to be false. On June 2d Na- 
poleon entered Milan. It was evident that a conflict was im- 


minent, and to prepare his soldiers Bonaparte addressed 

"Soldiers, one of our departments was in the power of the enemy; 
consternation was in the south of France; the greatest part of the 
Ligurian territory, the most faithful friends of the Republic, had been 
invaded. The Cisalpine Republic had again become the grotesque play- 
thing of the feudal regime. Soldiers, you march. — and already the 
French territory is delivered ! Joy and hope have succeeded in your 
country to consternation and fear. 

** You give back liberty and independence to the people of Genoa. 
You have delivered them from their eternal enemies. You are in the 
capital of the Cisalpine. The enemy, terrified, no longer hopes for 
anything, except to regain its frontiers. You have taken possession 
of its hospitals, its magazines, its resources. 

** The first act of the campaign is terminated. Every day you hear 
millions of men thanking you for your deeds. 

** But shall it be said that French territorj- has been violated with 
impunity? Shall we allow an army which has carried fear into our 
families to return to its firesides? Will you nm with your arms? 
Very well, march to the battle ; forbid their retreat ; tear from them 
the laurels of which they have taken possession ; and so teach the world 
that the curse of destiny is on the rash who dare insult the territory 
of the Great People. The result of all our efforts will be spotless glory, 
solid peace." 

Melas, the Austrian commander, had lost much time; but 
finally convinced that it was really Bonaparte who had in- 
vaded Italy, and that he had actually reached Milan, he ad- 
vanced into the plain of Marengo. He had with him an 
army of from fifty to sixty thousand men well supplied with 

Bonaparte, ignorant that so large a force was at Marengo, 
advanced into the plain with only a portion of his army. 
On June 14th Melas attacked him. Before noon the French 
saw that they had to do WMth the entire Austrian army. For 
hours the battle was waged furiously, but with constant 
loss on the side of the French. In spite of the most intrepid 
fighting the army gave way. " At four o'clock in the after- 
noon/' says a soldier who was present, ** there remained in 


a radius of two leagues not over six thousand infantry, a 
thousand horse, and six pieces of cannon. A third of our 
army was not in condition for battle. The lack of carriages 
to transport the sick made another third necessary for this 
painful task. Hunger, thirst, fatigue, had forced a great 
number to withdraw. The sharp shooters for the most part 
had lost the direction of their regiments. 

" He who in these frightful circumstances would have 
said, ' In two hours we shall have gained the battle, made 
ten thousand prisoners, taken several generals, fifteen flags, 
forty cannons; the enemy shall have delivered to us eleven 
fortified places and all the territory of beautiful Italy; they 
will soon defile shamefaced before our ranks; an armistice 
will suspend the plague of war and bring back peace into 
our country,' — he, I say, who would have said that, would 
have seemed to insult our desperate situation." 

The battle was won finally by the French through the 
fortunate arrival of Desaix with reenforcements and the 
imperturbable courage of the commander-in-chief. Bona- 
parte's coolness was the marvel of those who surrounded 

" At the moment when the dead and the dying covered 
the earth, the Consul was constantly braving death. He 
gave his orders with his accustomed coolness, and saw the 
storm approach without seeming to fear it. Those who saw 
him, forgetting the danger that menaced them, said : * What 
if he should be killed? Why does he not go back? ' It is 
said that General Berthier begged him to do so. 

" Once General Berthier came to him to tell him that the 
army was giving w^ay and that the retreat had commenced. 
Bonaparte said to him : * General, you do not tell me that 
with sufficient coolness.' This greatness of soul, this firm- 
ness, did not leave him in the greatest dangers. When 
the Fifty-ninth Brigade reached the battle-field the action 

End.ravwl by Antonio Gilbrrl 
of France, Viteroy of ^Itsly. It" 

eagerly. He alked t 

. No one iar« whelhe ■ 

II it enouKl. that their aeniui shines from 1.. 

have never coniidered it in tliaC way. But you are right, Citicen 
I. You need not pose: r will paint you without that." Dayid w — - 
ast daily after this with Napoleon, in order to study his (ace, a 


was the hottest. The First Consul advanced toward them 
and cried : * Come, my brave soldiers, spread your banners ; 
the moment has come to distinguish yourselves. I count 
on your courage to avenge your comrades." At the mo- 
ment that he pronounced these words, five men were struck 
down near him. He turned w^ith a tranquil air towards the 
enemy, and said: * Come, my friends, charge them.' 

" I had curiosity enough to listen attentively to his voice, 
to examine his features. The most courageous man, the 
hero the most eager for glory, might have been overcome 
in his situation without any one blaming him. But he was 
not. In these frightful moments, when fortune seemed to 
desert him, he was still the Bonaparte of Areola and 

When Desaix came up with his division, Bonaparte took 
an hour to arrange for the final charge. During this time 
the Austrian artillery was thundering upon the army, each 
volley carrying away whole lines. The men received death 
without moving from their places, and the ranks closed 
over the bodies of their comrades. This deadly artillery even 
reached the cavalry, drawn up behind, as well as a large 
number of infantry who, encouraged by Desaix's arrival, 
had. hastened back to the field of honor. In spite of the 
horror of this preparation Bonaparte did not falter. When 
he was ready he led his army in an impetuous charge which 
overwhelmed the Austrians completely, though it cost the 
French one of their bravest generals, Desaix. It was a 
frightful struggle, but the perfection with which the final 
attack was planned, won the battle of Marengo and drove 
the Austrians from Italy. 

The Parisians were dazzled by the campaign. Of the 
passage of the Alps they said, ** It is an achievement greater 
than Hannibars; '* and they repeated how *' the First Consul 
had pointed his finger at the frozen summits, and they had 
bowed their heads.'' At the news of Marengo the streets 

Engraved by G. FissinBtr. afitr portrait by Gu*i 


were lit with ** joy fires," and from wall to wall rang the 
cries of Vive la republique! Vive Ic premier consul! Vive 

The campaign against the Austrians was finished De- 
cember 3, 1800, by the battle of Hohenlinden, won by Mo- 
reau, and in February the treaty of Luneville established 
peace. England was slower in coming to terms, it not being 
until March, 1802, tha!t she signed the treaty of Amiens. 

At last France was at peace with all the world. She 
hailed Napoleon as her savior, and ordered that the 18th 
Brumaire be celebrated throughout the republic as a solemn 
fete in his honor. 

The country saw in him something greater than a peace- 
maker. She was discovering that he was to be her law giver, 
for, while ending the wars, he had begun to bring order into 
the interior chaos which had so long tormented the French 
people, to reestablish the finances, the laws, the industries, 
to restore public works, to encourage the arts and sciences, 
even to harmonize the interests of rich and poor, of church 
and state. 




OW we must rebuild, and, moreover, we must re- 
build solidly,'' said Napoleon to his brother Lucien 
the day after the coup d'etat which had over- 
thrown the Directory and made him the temporary Dictator 
of France. 

The first necessity was a new constitution. In ten years 
three constitutions had been framed and adopted, and now 
the third had, like its predecessors, been declared worthless. 
At Napoleon's side was a man who had the draft of a con- 
stitution ready in his pocket. It had been promised him that, 
if he would aid in the i8th Brumaire, this instrument should 
be adopted. This man was the Abbe Sieyes. He had been 
a prominent member of the Constituent Assembly, but, 
curiously enough, his fame there had been founded more on 
his silence and the air of mystery in which he enveloped 
himself than on anything he had done. The superstitious 
veneration which he had won, saved him even during the 
Terror, and he was accustomed to say laconically, when 
asked what he did in that period. " I lived." 

It was he who, when Napoleon was still in Egypt, had 
seen the necessity of a military dictatorship, and had urged 
the Directory to order Napoleon home to help him re- 
organize the government — an order which was never re- 

Soon after the i8th Brumaire, Sieyes presented his con- 



stitution. No more bungling and bizarre instrument for 
conducting the affairs of a nation was ever devised. Warned 
by the experience of the past ten years, he abandoned the 
ideas of 1789, and declared that the power must come from 
above, the confidence from below. His system of voting 
took the suffrage from the people; his legislative body was 
composed of three sections, each of which was practically 
powerless. All the force of the government was centered 
in a senate of aged men. The Grand Elector, as the figure- 
head which crowned the edifice was called, did nothing but 
live at Versailles and draw a princely salary. 

Napoleon saw at once the weak points of the structure, 
but he saw how it could be re-arranged to serve a dictator. 
He demanded that the Senate be stripped of its power, and 
that the Grand Elector be replaced by a First Consul, to 
whom the executive force should be confided. Sieves con- 
sented, and Napoleon was named First Consul. 

The whole machinery of the government was now cen- 
tred in one man. ** The state, it was I," said Napoleon at 
St. Helena. The new constitution was founded on prin- 
ciples the very opposite of those for which the Revolution 
had been made, but it was the only hope there was of drag- 
ging France from the slough of anarchy and despair into 
which she had fallen. 

Napoleon undertook the work of reconstruction which 
awaited him, with courage, energy, and amazing audacity. 
He was forced to deal at once with all departments of the 
nation's life — with the finances, the industries, the emigres, 
the Church, public education, the codification of the laws. 

The first question was one of money. The country was 
literally bankrupt in 1799. The treasury was empty, and 
the government practised all sorts of makeshifts to get 
money to pay those bills which could not be put off. One 
day, having to send out a special courier, it was obliged to 


give him the receipts of the opera to pay his expenses. And, 
again, it was in such a tight pinch that it was on the point 
of sending the gold coin in the Cabinet of Medals to the 
mint to be melted. Loans could not be negotiated ; govern- 
ment paper was worthless ; stocks were down to the lowest. 
One of the worst features of the situation was the condition 
of the taxes. The assessments were as arbitrary as before 
the Revolution, and they were collected with greater diffi- 

To select an honest, capable, and well-known financier 
was Napoleon's first act. The choice he made was wise — a 
Monsieur Gaudin, afterward the Duke de Gaete, a quiet 
man, who had the confidence of the people. Under his man- 
agement credit was restored, the government was able to 
make the loans necessary, and the department of finance 
was reorganized in a thorough fashion. Napoleon's grati- 
tude to Monsieur Gaudin was lasting. Once when asked to 
change him for a more brilliant man, he said : 

** I fully acknowledge all your protege is worth ; but it 
might easily happen that, with all his intelligence, he would 
give me nothing but fresh water, whilst with my good 
Gaudin I can always rely on having good crown pieces." 

The famous Bank of France dates from this time. It 
was founded under Napoleon's personal direction, and he 
never ceased to watch over it jealously. 

Most important of all the financial measures was the re- 
organization of the system of taxation. The First Consul 
insisted that the taxes must meet the whole expense of the 
nation, save war, which must pay for itself; and he so 
ordered affairs that never, after his administration was fairly 
begun, was a deficit known or a loan made. This was done, 
too, without the people feeling the burden of taxation. In- 
deed, that burden was so much lighter under his administra- 
tion that it had been under the old regime, that peasant 

light and shade 

»e hard fealures made prominent by itrong contruu of 
liese checks aa hollau- as Ihe interior angle of the eye; these 

M (treat, clear eyes deeply »«t under the overarching eye- 
incomprehensible took, sharp as a sword: these two alraighl 
3SS the forehead from the bue of the nose lilce > fumw 
■ and infleiible will." 


and workman, in most cases, probably did not know they 
were being taxed. 

" Before 1789," says Taine, ** out of one hundred francs 
of net revenue, the workman gave fourteen to his seignor, 
fourteen to the clergy, fifty-three to the state, and kept only 
eighteen or nineteen for himself. Since 1800, from one 
hundred francs income he pays nothing to the seignor or the 
Church, and he pays to the state, the department, and the 
commune but twenty-one francs, leaving seventy-nine in 
his pocket." And such was the method and care with which 
this system was administered, that the state received more 
than twice as much as it had before. The enormous sums 
which the police and tax-collectors had appropriated now 
went to the state. Here is but one example of numbers 
which show how minutely Napoleon guarded this part of the 
finances. It is found in a letter to Fouche, the chief of 
police : 

"•What happens at Bordeaux happens at Turin, at Spa. at Marseilles, 
etc. The police commissioners derive immense profits from the gam- 
ing-tables. My intention is that the towns shall reap the benefit of 
the tables. I shall employ the two hundred thousand francs paid by 
the tables of Bordeaux in building a bridge or a canal. . . ." 

A great improvement was that the taxes became fixed 
and regular. Napoleon wished that each man should know 
what he had to pay out each year. ** True civil liberty de- 
pends on the safety of property,'' he told his Council of 
State. ** There is none in a country where the rate of tax- 
ation is changed every year. A man who has three thou- 
sand francs income does not know how much he will have to 
live on the next year. His whole substance may be swal- 
lowed up by the taxes.*' 

Nearly the whole revenue came from indirect taxes ap- 
plied to a great number of articles. In case of a war which 
did not pay its way, Napoleon proposed to raise each of 


these a few centimes. The nation would surely prefer this, 
to paying it to the Russians or Austrians. When possible 
the taxes were reduced. " Better leave the money in the 
hands of the citizens than lock it up in a cellar, as they do in 

He was cautious that extra taxes should not come on the 
very poor, if it could be avoided. A suggestion to charge 
the vegetable and fish sellers for their stalls came before 
him. ** The public s(juare, like water, might to be free. It 
is quite enough that we tax salt and wine. ... It would 
become the city of Paris much more to think of restoring 
the corn market." 

An important part of his financial policy was the rigid 
economy which was insisted on in all dei)artments. If a 
thing was bought, it must be worth what was paid for it. 
If a man held a i)()sition, he must do its duties. Neither 
purchases nor positions could be made unless reasonable 
and useful. This w^as in direct opposition to the old regime, 
of which waste, idleness, and parasites were the chief char- 
acteristics. The saving in expenditure was almost incred- 
ible. A trip to Fontainebleau, which cost Louis XVI. four 
hundred thousand dollars, Nai)oleon would make, in no less 
state, for thirtv thousand dollars. 

The expenses of the civil household, which amounted to 
five million dollars under the old regime, were now cut down 
to six hundred thousand dollars, though the elegance was 
no less. 

A master who gave such strict attention to the prosperity 
of his kingdom would not, of course, overlook its industries. 
In fact, they were one of Napoleon's chief cares. His 
policy was one of protection. He would have France make 
everything she wanted, and sell to her neighbors, but never 
buy from them. To simulate the manufactories, which in 
1799 were as nearly bankrupt as the public treasury, he 


visited the factories himself to learn their needs. He gave 
liberal orders, and urged, even commanded, his associates 
to do the same. At one time, anxious to aid the batiste fac- 
tories of Flanders, he tried to force Josephine to give up 
cotton goods and to set the fashion in favor of the batistes ; 
but she made such an outcry that he was obliged to abandon 
the idea. For the same reason he wrote to his sister Eliza : 
" I beg that you will allow your court to wear nothing but 
silks and cambrics, and that you will exclude all cottons and 
muslins, in order to favor French industry." 

Frequently he would take goods on consignment, to help 
a struggling factory. Rather than allow a manufactory to 
be idle, he would advance a large sum of money, and a 
quantity of its products w^ould be put under government 
control. After the battle of Eylau, Napoleon sent one mil- 
lion six hundred thousand francs to Paris, to be used in this 
way. ^ 

To introduce cotton-making into the country was one of 
his chief industrial ambitions. At the beginning of the 
century it was printed in all the factories of France, but 
nothing more. He proposed to the Council of State to pro- 
hibit the importation of cotton thread and the woven goods. 
There was a strong opposition, but he carried his point. 

" As a result,'' said Napoleon to Las Cases complacently, 
" we possess the three branches, to the immense advantage 
of our population and to the detriment and sorrow of the 
B'nglish: which proves that, in administration as in war, 
one must exercise character. ... I occupied myself no 
less in encouraging silks. As Emperor, and King of Italy, 
I counted one hundred and twenty millions of income from 
the silk harvest.'' 

In a similar way he encouraged agriculture; especially 
was he anxious that France should raise all her own articles 
of diet. He had Berthollet look into maple and turnip sugar, 

One of the Ix 
truest at all, ,<• 
GihotXt. Isabcy, 

rails iif Ihc Firat Coinul-lhe 
fniike Rouillon, Van Hr*e, 

minbly tic bed by Duiiles' 


and he did at last succeed in persuading the people to use 
beet sugar; though he never convinced them that Swiss tea 
equalled Chinese, or that chicory was as good as coflfee. 

The works he insisted should be carried on in regard to 
roads and public buildings were of great importance. There 
was need that something be done. 

" It is impossible to conceive, if one had not been a witness of it 
before and after the i8th Brumaire [said the chancellor Pasquierl. of 
the widespread ruin wrought by the Revolution. . . . There were 
hardly two or three main roads [in France] in a fit condition for 
traffic; not a single one was there, perhaps, wherein was not found 
some obstacle that could not be surmounted without peril. With 
regard to the ways of internal communication, they had been indefinitely 
suspended. The navigation of rivers and canals was no longer feasible. 

*' In all directions public buildings, and those monuments which rep- 
resent the splendor of the state, were faMing into decay. It must fain 
be admitted that if the work of destruction had been prodigious, that 
of restoration was no less so. Everything was taken hold of at one and 
the same time, and everything progressed with a like rapidity. Not 
only was it resolved to restore all that required restoring in various 
parts of the country, in all parts of the public service, but new. grand, 
beautiful and useful works were decided upon and many were brought 
to a happy termination. This certainly constitutes one of the most 
brilliant sides of the consular and imperial regime." 

In Paris alone vast improvements were made. Napoleon 
began the Rue de Rivoli, built the wing connecting the Tuil- 
eries and the Louvre, erected the triumphal arch of the 
Carrousel, the Arc de Triomphe at the head of the Champs 
Elysees, the Column Vendome, the Madeleine, began the 
Bourse, built the Pont dWusterlitz, and ordered, com- 
menced, or finished, a number of minor works of great im- 
portance to the city. The markets interested him par- 
ticularly. " Give all possible care to the construction of the 
markets and to their healthfulness, and to the beautv of the 
Halle-aux-bles and of the Halle-aux-vins. The people, too, 
must have their Louvre.'' 

The works undertaken outside of Paris in France, and in 


the countries under her rule in the time that Napoleon was 
in power were of a variety and extent which would be in- 
credible, if every traveller in Europe did not have the evi- 
dence of them still before his eyes. The mere enumeration 
of these works and of the industrial achievements of Na- 
poleon, made by Las Cases, reads like a fairy story. " You 
wish to know the treasures of Napoleon? They are im- 
mense, it is true, but they are all exposed to light. They 
are the noble harbors of Antwerp and Flushing, which are 
capable of containing the largest fleets, and of protecting 
them against the ice from the sea ; the hydraulic works at 
Dunkirk, Havre, and Nice; the immense harbor of Cher- 
bourg; the maritime works at Venice; the beautiful roads 
from Antwerp to Amsterdam, from Mayence to Metz, from 
Bordeaux to Bayonne; the passes of the Simplon, of Mont 
Cenis, of Mount Genevre, of the Corniche, which open a 
communication through the Alps in four different direc- 
tions, and which exceed in grandeur, in boldness, and in 
skill of execution, all the works of the Romans (in that 
alone you will find eight hundred millions) ; the roads from 
the Pyrenees to the Alps, from Parma to Spezia, from 
Savona to Piedmont; the bridges of Jena, Austerlitz, Des 
Arts, Sevres, Tours, Roanne, Lyons, Turin; of the Isere, 
of the Durance, of Bordeaux, of Rouen, etc. ; the canal which 
connects the Rhine with the Rhone by the Doubs, and thus 
unites the North Sea with the Mediterranean ; the canal 
which joins the Scheldt with the Somme, and thus joins 
Paris and Amsterdam ; the canal which unites the Ranee to 
the Vilaine ; the canal of Aries ; that of Pavia, and the canal 
of the Rhine ; the draining of the marshes of Bourgoin, of 
the Cotentin, of Rochefort; the rebuilding of the greater 
part of the churches destroyed by the Revolution ; the build- 
ing of others : the institution of numerous establishments of 


industry for the suppression of mendicity ; the gallery at the 
Louvre ; the construction of public warehouses, of the Bank, 
of the canal of the Ourcq; the distribution of water in the 
city of Paris ; the numerous drains, the quays, the embellish- 
ments, and the monuments of that large capital; the works 
for the embellishment of Rome; the reestablishment of the 
manufactures of Lyons; the creation of many hundreds of 
manufactories of cotton, for spinning and for weaving, 
which employ several millions of workmen ; funds accumu- 
lated to establish upwards of four hundred manufactories 
of sugar from beet-root, for the consumption of part of 
France, and which would have furnished sugar at the same 
price as the West Indies, if they had continued to receive 
encouragement for only four years longer; the substitution 
of woad for indigo, which would have been at last brought 
to a state of perfection in France, and obtained as good 
and as cheap as the indigo from the colonies; numerous 
manufactories for all kinds of objects of art, etc. ; fifty mil- 
lions expended in repairing and beautifying the palaces be- 
longing to the Crown; sixty millions in furniture for the 
palaces belonging to the Crown in France, in Holland, at 
Turin, and at Rome; sixty millions of diamonds for the 
Crown, all purchased with Napoleon's money; the Regent 
(the only diamond that was left belonging to the former 
diamonds of the Crown) withdrawn from the hands of the 
Jews at Berlin, in whose hands it had been left as a pledge 
for three millions. The Napoleon Museum, valued at up- 
wards of four hundred millions, filled with objects legiti- 
mately acquired, either by moneys or by treaties of peace 
known to the whole world, by virtue of which the chefs- 
d'ocuvres, it contains were given in lieu of territory or of 
contributions. Several millions amassed to be applied to the 
encouragement of agriculture, which is the paramount con- 

.Tit ten in I'rcncli. Li)* Dutcn 
al persunagfs in Ilie l£gy[.t 
:rsc side of tliii medallion, 

\'crwi1l« Miueufn. 


sideration for the interest of France; the introduction into 
France of merino sheep, etc. These form a treasure of 
several thousand millions which will endure for ages." 
' Napoleon himself looked on these achievements as his 
most enduring monument. ** The allied powers cannot 
take from me hereafter/* he told O'Meara, ** the great 
public works I have executed, the roads which I made over 
the Alps, and the seas which I have united. They cannot 
place their feet to improve where mine have not been before. 
They cannot take from me the code of laws which I formed, 
and which will go down to posterity," 




BUT there were wounds in the French nation more pro- 
found than those caused by lack of credit, by neglect 
and corruption. The body which in 1789 made up 
France had, in the last ten years, been violently and hor- 
ribly wrenched asunder. One hundred and fifty thousand 
of the richest, most cultivated, and most capable of the popu- 
lation had been stripped of wealth and position, and had 
emigrated to foreign lands. 

Napoleon saw that if the emigres could be reconciled, he 
at once convened a powerful enemy into a zealous friend. 
In spite of the opposition of those who had made the Revo- 
lution and gained their positions through it, he accorded 
an amnesty to the emigres, which included the whole one 
hundred and fifty thousand, with the excepti(^n of about one 
thousand, and this number, it was arranged, should l)e re- 
duced to five hundred in the course of a year. More, he 
provided for their wants. Most of the smaller properties 
confiscated by the Revolution had been sold, and Xapoleon 
insisted that th(^se who had bought them from the state 
should be assured of their tenure ; but in case a property had 
not been disposed of, he returned it to the family, though 
rarely in full. In case of forest lands, not over three hun- 
dred and seventy-five acres were given back. Gifts and 
positions were given to many emigres, so that the majority 
were able to live in ease. 



A valuable result of this policy of reconciliation was the 
amount of talent, experience, and culture which he gained 
for the government. France had been run for ten years by 
country lawyers, doctors, and pamphleteers, who, though 
they boasted civic virtue and eloquence, and though they 
knew their Plutarch and Rousseau by heart, had no prac- 
tical sense, and little or no experience. The return of the 
emigres gave France a body of trained diplomats, judges, 
and thinkers, many of whom were promptly admitted to 
the government. 

More serious than the amputation of the aristocracy had 
been that of the Church. The Revolution had torn it from 
the nation, had confiscated its property, turned its cathedrals 
into barracks, its convents and seminaries into town halls 
and prisons, sold its lands, closed its schools and hospitals. 
It had demanded an oath of the clergy which had divided 
the body, and caused thousands to emigrate. Not content 
with this, it had tried to supi)lant the old religion, first with 
a worship of the Goddess of Reason, afterwards with one 
of the Supreme Being. 

But the people still loved the Catholic Church. The mass 
of them kept their crucifixes in their houses, told their beads, 
observed fast days. No matter hcnv severe a penalty was 
attached to the observance of Sunday instead of the day 
which had replaced it, called the ** decade," at heart the 
people remembered it. ** We rest on the decade," said a 
workman once, ** but we change our shirts on Sunday.** 

Napoleon understood the popular heart, and he proposed 
the reestablishment of the Catholic Church. The Revo- 
lutionists, even his warmest friends among the generals, 
opposed it. Infidelity was a cardinal point in the creed of 
the majority of the new regime. They not only rejected 
the Church, they ridiculed it. Rather than restore Catholi- 


cism, they advised Protestantism. " But," declared Na- 
poleon, '* France is not Protestant ; she is Catholic." 

In the Council of State, where the question was argued, 
he said : " My policy is to govern men as the greatest number 
wish to be governed. ... I carried on the war of Ven- 
dee by becoming a Catholic; I established myself in Egypt 
by becoming a Mussulman ; I won over the priests in Italy 
by becoming Ultramontane. If I governed Jews I should 
reestablish the temple of Solomon. ... It is thus, I 
think, that the sovereignty of the i^eople should be under- 

Evidently this was a very different way of understanding 
that famous doctrine from that which had been in vogue, 
which consisted in forcing the people to accept what each 
idealist thought was best, without consulting their preju- 
dices or feelings. In spite of opposition, Napoleon's will 
prevailed, and in the spring of 1802 the Concordat was 
signed. This treaty between the Pope and France is still in 
force in France. It makes the Catholic Church the state 
church, allows the government to name the bishops, com- 
pels it to pay the salaries of the clergy, and to furnish 
cathedrals and churches for public worship, which, how- 
ever, remain national property. The Concordat provided 
for the absolution of the priests who had married in 
the Revolution, restored Sunday, and made legal holidays 
of certain fete days. This arrangement was not made at the 
price of intolerance towards other bodies. The French 
government protects and contributes towards the support 
of all religions within its bounds, Catholic, Protestant, Jew, 
or Mohammedan. The Concordat was ridiculed by many 
in the government and army, but undoubtedly it was one ot 
the most statesmanlike measures carried out by Napoleon. 

" The joy of the overwhelming majority of France 


silenced even the boldest malcontents/' says Pasquier; "it 
became evident that Napoleon, better than those who sur- 
rounded him, had seen into the depths of the nation's heart." 
It is certain that in reestablishing the Church Napoleon 
did not yield to any religious prejudice, although the Cath- 
olic Church was the one he preferred. It was purely a ques- 
tion of policy. In arranging the Concordat he might have 
secured more liberal measures — measures in which he be- 
lieved — but he refused them. 

^ " Do you wish me to manufacture a religion of caprice for my own 
special use, a religion that would be nobody's? I do not so under- 
stand matters. What I want is the old Catholic religion, the only one 
which is imbedded in every heart, and from which it has never been 
torn. This religion alcne can conciliate hearts in my favor; it alone 
can smooth away all obstacles." 

In discussing the subject at St. Helena he said to Las 
Cases : 

** When I came to the head of affairs. I had already formed certain 
ideas on the great principles which hold society together. I had 
weighed all the importance of religion ; I was persuaded of it. and I 
and resolved to reestablish it. You would scarcely believe in the diffi- 
culties that I had to restore Catholicism. I would have been followed 
much more willingly if I had unfurled the banner of Protestantism. 
... It is sure that in the disorder to which I succeeded, in the 
ruins where I found myself, I could choose between Catholicism and 
Protestantism. And it is true that at that moment the disposition was 
io favor of the latter. But outside the fact that I really clung to the 
religion in which I had been born, I had the highest motives to decide 
me. By proclaiming Protestantism, what would I have obtained? I 
should have created in France two great parties about equal, when I 
wished there should be longer but one. I should have excited the fury 
of religious quarrels, when the enlightenment of the age and my de- 
sire was to make them disappear altogether. These two parties in 
tearing each other to pieces would have annihilated France and render- 
ed her the slave of Europe, when I was ambitious of making her its 
mistress. With Catholicism I arrived much more surely at my great 
results. Within, at home, the great number would absorb the small. 
and I promised myself to treat with the latter so liberally that it would 
soon have no motive for knowing the difference. 


" Without, Catholicism saved me the Pope ; and with my influences 
and our forces in Italy I did not despair sooner or later, by one way or 
another, of finishing by ruling the Pope myself." 

When the Church fell in France, the whole system of 
education went clown with her. The Revolutionary govern- 
ments tried to remedy the condition, but beyond many plans 
and speeches little had been done. Napoleon allowed the 
religious bodies to reopen their schools, and thus primary 
instruction was soon ])rovided again ; and he founded a num- 
ber of secondary and special schools. The greatest of his 
educational undertakings was the organization of the Uni- 
versity. This institution was centralized in the head of the 
state as ccnnpletely as every other Napoleonic institution. 
It exists to-day but little changed — a most efficient body, 
in spite of its rigid state control. This university did noth- 
ing for woman. 

*' I do not think we need trouble ourselves with any plan of 
instruction for young females," Napoleon told the Council. 
" They cannot be brought up better than by their mothers. 
Public education is not suitable for them, because they are 
never called upcMi to act in public. Manners are all in all to 
them, and marriage is all they look to. In times past the 
monastic life was open to women ; they espoused God, and, 
though society gained little by that alliance, the parents 
gained by pocketing the dowry." 

It was with the education of the daughters of soldiers, 
civil functionaries, and members of the Legion of Honor, 
who had died and left their children unprovided for, that 
he concerned himself, establishing schools of which the 
well-known one at St. Denis is a model. The rules were 
prepared by Napoleon himself, who insisted that the girls 
should be taught all kinds of housework and needlework — 
everything, in fact, which would make them good house- 
keepers and honest women. 


The military schools were also reorganized at this time. 
Remembering his own experience at the Ecole Militaire, Na- 
poleon arranged that the severest economy should be prac- 
tised in them, and that the pupils should learn to do every- 
thing for themselves. They even cleaned, bedded, and shod 
their own horses. 

The destruction of the old system of privileges and honors 
left the government without any means of rewarding those 
who rendered it a service. Napoleon presented a law for a 
Legion of Honor, under control of the state, which should 
admit to its membership only those who had done some- 
thing of use to the public. The service might be military, 
commercial, artistic, humanitarian; no limit w^as put on its 
nature ; anything which helped France in any way was to be 
rewarded by membership in the proposed order. In fact, it 
was the most democratic distinction possible, since the same 
rew-ard was given for all classes of service and to all classes 
of people. 

Now the Revolutionary spirt spurned all distinction ; and 
as free discussion was allowed on the law, a severe arraign- 
ment of it was made. Nevertheless, it passed. It im- 
mediately became a power in the hands of the First Consul, 
and such it has remained until to-day in the government. 
Though it has been frequently abused, and never, perhaps, 
more flagrantly than by the present Republic, unquestion- 
ably the French " red button '' is a decoration of which to be 

The greatest civil achievement of Napoleon was the codi- 
fication of the laws. Up to the Revolution, the laws of 
France had been in a misty, incoherent condition, feudal in 
their spirit, and by no means uniform in their application. 
The Constituent Assembly had ordered them revised, but 
the work had only been begun. Napoleon believed justly 
that the greatest benefit he could render France would be 






ived in London, by C. Turner, atlcr a paintmE by J. Masque 


to give her a complete and systematic code. He organized 
the force for this gigantic task, and pushed revision with 
unflagging energy. 

His part in the work was interesting and important. 
After the laws had been well digested and arranged in pre- 
liminary bodies, they were submitted to the Council of State. 
It was in the discussion before this body that Napoleon took 
part. That a man of thirty-one, brought up as a soldier, 
and having no legal training, could follow the discussions 
of such a learned and serious body as Napoleon's Council 
of State always was, seems incredible. In fact, he prepared 
for each session as thoroughly as the law-makers themselves. 
His habit was to talk over, beforehand generally with 
Cambaceres and Portal is, two legislators of great learning 
and clearness of judgment, all the matters which were to 
come up. 

He examined each question by itself,'* says Roederer, 

inquiring into all the authorities, times, experiences; de- 
manding to know how it had been under ancient jurispru- 
dence, under Louis XIV., or Frederick the Great. When a 
bill was presented to the First Consul, he rarely failed to ask 
these questions : Is this bill complete ? Does it cover every 
case Why have you not thought of this ? Is that necessary ? 
Is it right or useful? What is done nowadays and else- 
where ? " 

At night, after he had gone to bed, he would read or have 
read to him authorities on the subject. Such was his capac- 
ity for grasping any idea, that he would come to the Council 
with a perfectly clear notion of the subject to be treated, 
and a good idea of its historical development. Thus he could 
follow the most erudite and philosophical arguments, and 
could take part in them. He stripped them at once of all 
conventional phrases and learned terms, and stated clearly 
what they meant. He had no use for anything but the plain 



meaning. By thus going directly to the practical sense of a 
thing, he frequently cleared up the ideas of the revisers them- 

In framing the laws, he took care that they should be 
worded so that everybody could understand them. Thus, 
when a law relating to li(iuors was being prepared, he urged 
that wholesale and retail should be defined in such a way 
that they would be definite ideas to the people. *' Pot and 
pint must be inserted," he said. ** There is no objection to 
those words. An excise act isn't an epic poem.'' 

Napoleon insisted on the greatest freedom of speech in the 
discussions on the laws, just as he did on " going straight 
to the point and not wasting time on idle talk." This clear- 
headedness, energy, and grasj) of subject, exercised over a 
body of really remarkable men, developed the Council until 
its discussions became famous througlKUit Europe. One of 
its wisest members. Chancellor Pascjuier, says of Napoleon's 
direction that " it was of such a nature as to enlarge the 
sphere of one's ideas, and to give (Mie's faculties all the de- 
velopment of which they were capable. The highest legisla- 
tive, administrative, and sometimes even political matters 
were taken up in it (the Council). Did we not see, for two 
consecutive winters, the sons of foreign sovereigns come and 
complete their education in its midst? " 

It was the genius of the head of the state, however, which 
was the most impressive feature of the Council of State. 
De Molleville, a former minister of Louis XVI., said once 
to Las Cases: 

" It must be admitted that your Bonaparte, your Napoleon, was a 
very extraordinary man. We were far from understanding him on 
the other side of the water. We could not refuse the evidence of his 
victories and his invasions, it is true; but Genseric. Attila, Alaric had 
done as much ; so he made more of an impression of terror on me than 
of admiration. But when I came here and followed the discussions on 
the civil code, from that moment I had nothing but profound veneration 


for him. But where in the world had he learned all that? And then 
every day I discovered something new in him. Ah, sir, what a man 
you had there! Truly, he was a prodigy.'' 

The modern reader who looks at France and sees how her 
University, her special schools, her hospitals, her great 
honorary legion, her treaty with the Catholic Church, her 
code of laws, her Bank — the vital elements of her life, in 
short — are as they came from Napoleon's brain, must ask, 
with De Molleville, How did he do it — he a foreigner, born 
in a half-civilized island, reared in a military school, without 
diplomatic or legal training, without the prestige of name or 
wealth ? How could he make a nation ? How could he be 
other than the barbaric conqueror the English and the 
emigres first thought him. 

Those who look at Napoleon's achievements, and are 
either dazzled or horrified by them, generally consider his 
power superhuman. They call it divine or diabolic, accord- 
ing to the feeling he inspires in them; but, in reality, the 
qualities he showed in his career as a statesman and law- 
giver are very human ones. His stout grasp on subjects; 
his genius for hard work; his power of seeing everything 
that should be done, and doing it himself; his unparalleled 
audacity, explain his civil achievements. 

The comprehension he had of questions of government 
was really the result of serious thinking. He had reflected 
from his first days at Brienne ; and the active interest he had 
taken in the Revolution of 1789 had made him familiar with 
many social and political questions. His career in Italy, 
which was almost as much a diplomatic as a military career, 
had furnished him an experience upon which he had founded 
many notions. In his dreams of becoming an Oriental law- 
giver he had planned a system of government of which he 
was to be the centre. Thus, before the i8th Brumaire made 
him the Dictator of France, he had his ideas of centralized 

in iSoi by AudDuin. after a dnij^n by RnuUlon 


government all formed, just as, before he crossed the Great 
Saint Bernard, he had fought, over and over, the battle of 
Marengo, with black- and red-headed pins stuck into a 
great map of Italy spread out on his study floor. 

His habit of attending to everything himself explains 
much of his success. No detail was too small for him, no 
task too menial. If a thing needed attention, no matter 
whose business it was, he looked after it. Reading letters 
once before Madame Junot, she said to him that such work 
must be tiresome, and advised him to give it to a secretary. 

" Later, perhaps,'' he said, '* Now it is impossible; I must 
answer for all. It is not at the beginning of a return to 
order that I can aflFord to ignore a need, a demand." 

He carried out this policy literally. When he went on a 
journey, he looked personally after every road, bridge, public 
building, he passed, and his letters teemed with orders about 
repairs here, restorations there. He looked after individuals 
in the same way ; ordered a pension to this one, a position to 
that one, even dictating how the gift should be made known 
so as to oflFend the least possible the pride of the recipient. 

When it came to foreign policy, he told his diplomats how 
they should look, whpther it should be grave or gay, whether 
they should discuss the opera or the political situation. 

The cost of the soldiers' shoes, the kind of box Josephine 
took at the opera, the style of architecture for the Made- 
leine, the amount of stock left on hand in the silk factories, 
the wording of the laws, all was his business. 

He thought of the flowers to be scattered daily on the 
tomb of General Regnier, suggested the idea of a battle 
hymn to Rouget de Tlsle, told the artists what expression 
to give him in their portraits, what accessories to use in 
the battle pieces, ordered everything, verified everything. 
" Beside him," said those who looked on in amazement, 
" the most punctilious clerk would have been a bungler." 


Without an extraordinary capacity for work, no man 
could have done this. Napoleon would work until eleven 
o'clock in the evening, and be up again at three in the 
morning. Frequently he slept but an hour, and came back 
as fresh as ever. No secretary could keep up to him, and 
his ministers sometimes went to sleep in the Council, worn 
out with the length of the session. " Come, citizen min- 
isters," he would cry, *' we must earn the money the French 
nation gives us.'* The ministers rarely went home from the 
meetings that they did not find a half-dozen letters from him 
on their tal)les to be answered, and the answer must be a 
clear, exact, exhaustive document. " Get your information 
so that when you do answer me, there shall be no * buts,' 
no ' ifs,' and no * becauses/ " was the rule Napoleon laid 
down to his correspondents. 

He had audacity. He dared do what he would. He had 
no conventional notions to tie him, no master to dictate to 
him. The Revolution had swept out of his way the accumu- 
lated experience of centuries — all the habits, the prejudices, 
the ways of doing things. He commenced nearer the bottom 
than any man in the history of the civilized world had ever 
done, worked with imperial self-confidence, with a convic- 
tion that he *' was not like other men ; '' that the moral law^s, 
the creeds, the conventions, which applied to them, wxre not 
for him. He might listen to others, but in the end he dared 
do as he would. 




THE centralization of France in Napoleon's hands was 
not to be allowed to go on without interference. 
Jacobinism, republicanism, royalism, were deeply- 
rooted sentiments, and it was not long before they began 
to struggle for expression. 

Early in the Consulate, plots of many descriptions were 
unearthed. The most serious before 1803 was that known 
as the '* Opera Plot/' or "Plot of the 3d Nivose " (De- 
cember 24, 1800), when a bomb was placed in the street, to 
be exploded as the First Consul's carriage passed. By an 
accident he w^as saved, and, in spite of the shock, went on 
to the opera. 

Madame Junot, who was there, gives a graphic descrip- 
tion of the way the news was received by the house : 

** The first thirty measures of the oratorio were scarcely played, 
when a strong explosion like a cannon was heard. 

" * What does that mean ? * exclaimed Junot with emotion. He open- 
ed the door of the logc and looked into the corridor. . . .'It is 
strange; how can they be firing cannon at this hour?' And then 
* I should have known it. Give me my hat ; I am going to find out 
what it is. . . .' 

** At this moment the loge of the First Consul opened, and fie him- 
self appeared with Generals Lannes, Lauriston, Berthier, and Duroc. 
Smiling, he saluted the immense crowd, which mingled cries like those 
of love with its applause. Madame Bonaparte followed him in a few 
seconds. . . . 

"Junot was going to enter the loge to see for himself the serene air 



of the First Consul that I had just remarked, when Duroc came up to 
us with troubled face. 

*' * The First Consul has just escaped death,' he said quickly to 
Junot. * Go down and see him ; he wants to talk to you.' . . . But 
a dull sound commenced to spread from parterre to orchestra, from 
orchestra to amphitheatre, and thence to the loges. 

" * The First Consul has just been attacked in the Rue Saint Nicaise/ 
it was whispered. Soon the truth was circulated in the salle; at the 
same instant, and as by an electric shock, one and the same acclama- 
tion arose, one and the same look enveloped Napoleon, as if in a pro- 
tecting love. 

" What agitation preceded the explosion of national anger which 
was represented in that first quarter of an hour, by that crowd whose 
fury for so black an attack could not be expressed by words ! Women 
sobbed aloud, men shivered with indignation. Whatever the banner 
they followed, they were united heart and arm in this case to show 
that differences of opinion did not bring with them differences in un- 
derstanding honor." 

It was such attempts, and suspicion of like ones, that led 
to the extension of the police service. One of the ablest and 
craftiest men of the Revolution became Napoleon's head of 
jK)lice in the Consulate, Fouche. A consummate actor and 
skilful flatterer, hampered by no conscience other than the 
duty of keeping in place, he acted a curious and entertaining 
part. Detective work was for him a game which he played 
with intense relish. He was a veritable amateur of plots, 
and never gayer than when tracing them. 

Napoleon admired Fouche, but he did not trust him, 
and, to offset him, formed a private police to spy on his 
work. He never succeeded in finding anyone sufficiently 
fine to match the chief, w'ho several times was malicious 
enough to contrive plots himself, to excite and mislead the 
private agents. 

The system of espionage went so far that letters were 
regularly opened. It was commonly said that those who 
did not want their letters read, did not send them by post; 
and though it was hardly necessary, as in the Revolution, 
to send them in pies, in coat-linings, or hat-crowns, yet care 


and prudence had to be exercised in handling all political 

It was difficult to get officials for the post-office who could 
be relied on to intercept the proper letters; and in 1802, the 
Postmaster-General, Monsieur Bernard, the father of the 
beautiful Madame Recamier, was found to be concealing 
an active royalist correspondence, and to be permitting the 
circulation of a quantity of seditious pamphlets. His arrest 
and imprisonment made a great commotion in his daughter's 
circle, which was one of social and intellectual importance. 
Through the intercessions of Bernadotte, Monsieur Ber- 
nard was pardoned by Napoleon. The cabinet noir, as the 
department of the post-office which did this work was called, 
was in existence when Napoleon came to the Consulate, and 
he rather restricted than increased its operations. It has 
never been entirely given up, as many an inoffensive for- 
eigner in France can testify. 

The theatre and press were also subjected to a strict cen- 
sorship. In 1800 the number of newspapers in Paris was 
reduced to twelve : and in three years there were but eight 
left, with a total subscription list of eighteen thousand six 
hundred and thirty. Napoleon's contempt for journalists 
and editors equalled that he had for lawyers, whom he called 
a ** heap of babblers and revolutionists." Neither class could, 
in his judgment, be allowed to go free. 

The salons were watched, and it is certain that those 
whose habUues criticised Napoleon freely were reported. 
One serious rupture resulted from the supervision of the 
salons, that with Madame de Stael. She had been an ardent 
admirer of Napoleon in the beginning of the Consulate, 
and Bourrienne tells several amusing stories of the disgust 
Napoleon showed at the letters of admiration and sentiment 
which she wrote him even so far back as the Italian cam- 
paign. If the secretary is to be believed, Madame de Stael 


This pencil portrait by Davitl is nothing 
hut a rapid sketch, but its iconographic in- 
terest is undeniable. David doubtless exe- 
cuted this design towards the end of 1797, 
after IJonaparte's return from Italy. It 
belongs to Monsieur Cheramy, a Paris 
lawyer. — A. D. 



told Napoleon, in one of these letters, that they were cer- 
tainly created for each other, that it was an error in human 
institutions that the mild and tranquil Josephine was united 
to his fate, that nature evidently had intended for a hero 
such as he, her own soul of fire. Napoleon tore the letter 
to pieces, and he took pains thereafter to announce with 
great bluntness to Madame de Stael, whenever he met her, 
his own notions of women, which certainly were anything 
but " modern/' 

As the centralization of the government increased, 
Madame de Stael and her friends criticized Napoleon more 
freely and sharply than they would have done, no doubt, 
had she not been incensed by his personal attitude towards 
her. This hostility increased until, in 1803, the First Con- 
sul ordered her out of France. " The arrival of this woman, 
like that of a bird of omen, has always been the signal for 
some trouble,'' he said in giving the order. " It is not my 
intention to allow her to remain in France." 

In 1807 this order was repeated, and many of Madame 
de Stael's friends were included in the proscription : 

*' I have written to the Minister of Police to send Madame de Stael 
to Geneva. This woman continues her trade of intriguer. She went 
near Paris in spite of my orders. She is a veritable plague. Speak 
seriously to the Minister, for I shall be obliged to have her seized by 
the f^cndarmcric. Keep an eye upon Benjamin Constant ; if he med- 
dles with anything I shall send him to his wife at Brunswick. I will 
not tolerate this clique.'' 

But when one compares the policy of restriction during 
the Consulate with what it had been under the old regime 
and during the Revolution, it certainly was far in advance in 
liberty, discretion, and humanity. The republican govern- 
ment to-day, in its repression of anarchy, and socialism 
has acted with less wisdom and less respect for freedom 
of thought than Napoleon did at this period of his career; 
and that, too, in circumstances less complicated and critical. 


If there were still dull rumors of discontent, a cabinet 
noir, a restricted press, a censorship over the theatre, pro- 
scriptions, even imprisonments and executions, on the whole 
France was happy. 

" Not only did the interior wheels of the machine com- 
mence to run smoothly/' says the Duchesse d'Abrantes, 
" but the arts themselves, that most peaceful part of the in- 
terior administration, gave striking proofs of the returning 
prosperity of France. The exposition at the Salon that year 
(1800) was remarkably fine. Guerin, David, Gerard, Giro- 
det, a crowd of great talents, spurred on by the emulation 
which always awakes the fire of genius, produced works 
which must some time place our school at a high rank.'* 

The art treasures of Europe were pouring into France. 
Under the direction of Denon, that indefatigable dilettante 
and student, who had collected in the expedition in Egypt 
more entertaining material than the whole Institute, and had 
written a report of it which will always be preferred to the 
" Great Work," the galleries of Paris were reorganized and 
opened two days of the week to the people. Napoleon in- 
augurated this practice himself. Not only w^as Paris sup- 
plied with galleries; those department museums which to- 
day surprise and delight the tourist in France were then 
created at Angers, Antwerp, Autun, Bordeaux, Brussels, 
Caen, Dijon, Geneva, Grenoble, Le Mans, Lille, Lyons, 
Mayence, Marseilles, Montpellier, Nancy, Nantes, Rennes, 
Rouen, Strasburg, Toulouse, and Tours. The prix de 
Rome, for which there had been no money in the treasury 
for some time, was reestablished. 

Every eflfort was made to stimulate scientific research. 
The case of Volta is one to the point. In 1801 Bonaparte 
called the eminent physicist to Paris to repeat his experi- 
ments before the Institute. He proposed that a medal should 
be given him, with a sum of money, and in his honor he es- 


tablished a prize of sixty thousand francs, to be awarded 
to any one who should make a discovery similar in value 
to Volta's.* An American — Robert Fulton — was about the 
same time encouraged by the First Consul. Fulton was 
experimenting with his submarine torpedo and diving boat, 
and for four years had been living in Paris and besieging 
the Directory to grant him attention and funds. Napoleon 
took the matter up as soon as Fulton brought it to him, 
ordered a commission appointed to look into the invention, 
and a grant of ten thousand francs for the necessary ex- 

The Institute was reorganized, and to encourage science 
and the arts he founded, in 1804, tw^enty-two prizes, nine of 
which were of ten thousand francs each, and thirteen of five 
thousand francs each. They were to be awarded every ten 
years by the emperor himself, on the i8th Brumaire. The 
first distribution of these prizes was to have taken place in 
1809, but the judges could not agree on the laureates ; and 
before a conclusion was reached, the empire had fallen. 

In literature and in music, as in art and science, there was 
a renewal of activity. A circle of poets and writers gathered 

♦ The Volta prize has been awarded only three or four times. An 
award of particular interest to Americans was that made in 1880 to Dr. 
Alexander Graham Bell, the inventor of the telephone. The amount 
of the prize was a little less than ten thousand dollars. Dr. Bell, being 
already in affluent circumstances, upon receiving this prize, set it apart 
to be used for the benefit of the deaf, in whose welfare he had for many 
years taken a great interest. He invested it in another invention of his, 
which proved to be very profitable, so that the fund came to amount to 
one hundred thousand dollars. This he termed the Volta Fund. Some 
of this fund has been applied by Dr. Bell to the organization of the Volta 
Bureau, which collects all valuable information that can be obtained with 
reference to not only deaf-mutes as a class, but to deaf-mutes in- 
dividually. Twenty-five tFTousand dollars has been given to the As- 
sociation for the Promotion of Teaching Speech to the Deaf. Napoleon 
is thus indirectly the founder of one of the most interesting and valuable 
present undertakings of the country. 



about the First Consul. Paisiello was summoned to Paris 
to direct the opera and conservatory of music. There was 
a revival of dignity and taste in strong contrast to the license 
and carelessness of the Revolution. The incroyable passed 
away. The Greek costume disappeared from the street. 
Men and women began again to dress, to act, to talk, ac- 
cording to conventional forms. Society recovered its sys- 
tematic ways of doing things, and soon few signs of the 
general dissolution w^hich had prevailed for ten years were to 
be seen. 

Once more the traveller crossed France in peace ; peasant 
and laborer went undisturbed about their work, and slept 
without fear. Again the people danced in the fields and 
" sang their songs as they had in the days before the Revo- 
lution." ** France has nothing to ask from Heaven," said 
Regnault de Saint Jean d'Angely, ** but that the sun may 
continue to shine, the rain to fall on our fields, and the earth 
to render the seed fruitful." 

Painled by A. Gerard in 1803. EnRravccI by Richomme in 18.IS. 




IN the spring of 1803 the treaty of Amiens, which a year 
before had ended the long war with England, was 
broken. Both countries had many reasons for com- 
plaint. Napoleon was angry at the failure to evacuate Malta. 
The perfect freedom allowed the press in England gave the 
pamphleteers and caricaturists of the country an opportunity 
to criticize and ridicule him. He complained bitterly to the 
English ambassadors of this free press, an institution in his 
eyes impractical and idealistic. He complained, too, of the 
hostile emigres allowed to collect in Jersey ; of the presence in 
England of such a notorious enemy of his as Georges Cadou- 
dal ; and of the sympathy and money the Bourbon princes and 
many nobles of the old regime received in London society. 
Then, too, he regarded the country as his natural and in- 
evitable enemy. England to Napoleon was only a little 
island which, like Corsica and Elba, naturally belonged to 
France, and he considered it part of his business to get 
possession of her. 

England, on the other hand, looked with distrust at the 
extension of Napoleon's influence on the Continent. North- 
em Italy, Switzerland, Holland, Parma, Elba, were under 
his protectorate. She had been deeply oflfended by a report 
published in Paris, on the condition of the Orient, in which 
the author declared that with six thousand men the French 
could reconquer Egypt; she resented the violent articles in 



the official press of Paris in answer to those of the free press 
of England; her aristocratic spirit was irritated by Na- 
poleon's success; she despised this panrnu, this " Corsican 
scoundrel,*' as Nelson called him, who had had the hardihood 
to rise so high by other than the conventional methods for 
getting on in the world which she sanctioned. 

Real and fancied aggressions continued throughout the 
year of the peace ; and when the l)reak finally came, though 
both nations persisted in declaring that they did not want 
war, both were in a thoroughly warlike mood. 

Napoleon's preparations against England form one of 
the most picturesque military movements in his career. Un- 
able to cope with his enemy at sea, he conceived the auda- 
ious notion of invading the island, and laying siege to Lon- 
don itself. The plan briefly was this — to gather a great army 
on the north shore of France, and in some port a flotilla suf- 
ficient to transport it to Great Britain. In order to prevent 
interference with this expedition, he would keep the enemy's 
fleet occupied in the Mediterranean, or in the Atlantic, until 
the critical moment. Then, leading the English naval com- 
mander by stratagem in the wrong direction, he would call 
his own fleet to the Channel to protect his passage. He 
counted to be in London, and to have compelled the English 
to peace, before Nelson could return from the chase he 
would have led him. 

The preparations began at once. The port chosen for the 
flotilla was Boulogne; but the whole coast from Antwerp 
to the mouth of the Seine bristled with iron and bronze. 
Between Calais and Boulogne, at Cape Gris Nez, where the 
navigation was the most dangerous, the batteries literally 
touched one another. Fifty thousand men were put to 
work at the stupenduous excavations necessary to make 
the ports large enough to receive the flotilla. Large num- 
bers of troops were brought rapidly into the neighborhood : 


fifty thousand men to Boulogne, under Soult; thirty thou- 
sand to Etaples, under Ney; thirty thousand to Ostend, 
under Davoust ; reserves to Arras, Amiens, Saint-Omer. 

The work of preparing the flat-bottomed boats, or wal- 
nut-shells, as the English called them, which were to carry 
over the army, went on in all the ports of Holland and 
France, as well as in interior towns situated on rivers lead- 
ing to the sea. The troops were taught to row, each sol- 
dier being obliged to practise two hours a day so that the 
rivers of all the north of France were dotted with land-lub- 
bers handling the oar, the most of them for the first time. 

In the summer of 1803, Napoleon went to the north to 
look after the work. His trip was one long ovation. Le 
Chemin d'Angleterre was the inscription the people of 
Amiens put on the triumphal arch erected to his honor, and 
town vied with town in showing its joy at the proposed 
descent on the old-time enemy. 

Such was the interest of the people, that a thousand pro- 
jects were suggested to help on the invasion, some of them 
most amusing. In a learned and thoroughly serious me- 
morial, one genius proposed that while the flotilla was pre- 
paring, the sailors be employed in catching dolphins, which 
should be shut up in the ports, tamed, and taught to wear a 
harness, so as to be driven, in the waier, as horses are on 
land. This novel power was to transport the French to the 
opposite side of the Channel. 

Napoleon occupied himself not only with the preparations 
at Boulogne and with keeping Nelson busy elsewhere. 
Every project which could possibly facilitate his under- 
taking or discomfit his enemies, he considered. Fulton's 
diving-boat, the " Nautilus,'* and his submarine torpedoes, 
were at that time attracting the attention of the war de- 
partments of civilized countries. Already Napoleon had 
granted ten thousand francs to help the inventor. From the 


camp at Boulogne he again ordered the matter to be looked 
into. Fulton promised him a machine which ** would deliver 
France and the w^hole world from British oppression." 

" I have just read the project of Citizen Fuhon, engineer, which you 
have sent me much too late," he wrote, ** since it is one that may change 
the face of the world. Be that as it may. I desire that you immediately 
confide its examination to a commission of members chosen by you 
among the different classes of the Institute. There it is that learned 
Europe would seek for judges to resolve the question under consider- 
ation. A great truth, a physical, palpable truth, is before my eyes. It 
will be for these gentlemen to try and seize it and see it. As soon as 
their report is made, it will be sent to you, and you will forward it to 
me. Try and let the whole be determined within eight days, as I am 

He had his eye on every point of the earth where he might 
be weak, or where he might weaken his enemy. He took 
possession of Hanover. The Irish were promised aid in their 
efforts for freedom. ** Provided that twenty thousand united 
Irishmen join the French army on its landing/* France is 
to give them in return twenty-five thousand men, forty 
thousand muskets, with artillery and ammunition, and a 
promise that the French government will not make peace 
with England until the independence of Ireland has been 

An attack on India was planned, his hope being that the 
princes of India would welcome an invader who would aid 
them in throwing off the English yoke. To strengthen him- 
self in the Orient, he sought by letters and envoys to win the 
confidence, as well as to inspire the awe, of the rulers of 
Turkey and Persia. 

The sale of Louisiana to the United States dates from 
this time. This transfer, of such tremendous importance to 
us, was made by Napoleon purely for the sake of hurting 
England. France had been in possession of Louisiana but 
three years. She had obtained it from Spain only on the 
condition that it should " at no time, under no pretext, and 


in no manner, be alienated or ceded to any other power." 
The formal stipulation of the treaties forbade its sale. But 
Napoleon was not of a nature to regard a treaty, if the in- 
terest of the moment demanded it to be broken. To sell 
Louisiana now would remove a weak spot from France, 
upon which England would surely fall in the war. More, 
it would put a great territory, which he could not control, 
into the hands of a country which, he believed, would some 
day be a serious hinderance to English ambition. He sold 
the colony for the same reason that former French govern- 
ments had helped the United States in her struggles for in- 
dependence — to cripple England. It would help the United 
States, but it would hurt England. That was enough ; and 
with characteristic eagerness he hurried through the nego- 

*' I have just given England a maritime rival w^hich, 
sooner or later, will humble her pride,'' he said exultingly, 
when the convention was signed. The sale brought him 
twelve million dollars, and the United States assumed the 
French spoliation claims. 

This sale of Louisiana caused one c^f the first violent 
quarrels between Lucien Bonaparte and Napoleon. Lucien 
had negotiated the return of the American territory to 
France in 1800. He had made a princely fortune out of 
the treaty, and he was very proud of the transaction; and 
when his brother Joseph came to him one evening in hot 
haste, w^ith the information that the General wanted to sell 
Louisiana, he hurried around to the Tuileries in the morn- 
ing to remonstrate. 

Napoleon was in his bath, but, in the mode of the time, he 
received his brothers. He broached the subject himself, and 
asked Lucien what he thought. 

" I flatter myself that the Chambers will not give their 


" You flatter yourself? " said Napoleon. " That's good, 
I declare." 

** I have already said the same to the First Consul," cried 

*' And what did I answer?" said Napoleon, splashing 
around indignantly in the opaque water. 

" That you would do it in spite of the Chambers." 

" Precisely. I shall do it without the consent of anyone 
whomsoever. Do you understand? " 

Joseph, beside himself, rushed to the bathtub, and declared 
that if Napoleon dared do such a thing he would put him- 
self at the head of an opposition and crush him in spite of 
their fraternal relations. So hot did the debate grow that 
the First Consul sprang up shouting : ** You are insolent ! 

I ought " but at that moment he slipped and fell back 

violently. A great mass of perfumed water drenched Joseph 
to the skin, and the conference broke up. 

An hour later, Lucien met his brother in his library, and 
the discussion was resumed, only to end in another scene. 
Napoleon hurling a beautiful snuff-box upon the floor and 
shattering it, while he told Lucien that if he did not cease 
his opposition he would crush him in the same way. These 
violent scenes were repeated, but to no purpose. Louisiana 
was sold. 

portrait painlpd hy Gerj 

if the Emperor. Engrayed by Desnoyers, »fler 




WHILE the preparation for the invasion was going 
on, the feeling against England was intensified 
by the discovery of a plot against the life of the 
First Consul. Georges Cadoudal, a fanatical royalist, who 
was accused of being connected with the plot of the 3d 
Nivose (December 24), and who had since been in England, 
had formed a gigantic conspiracy, having as its object noth- 
ing less than the assassination of Napoleon in broad day- 
light, in the streets of Paris. 

He had secured powerful aid to carry out his plan. The 
Bourbon princes supported him, and one of them was to land 
on the north coast and put himself at the head of the royalist 
sympathizers as soon as the First Consul was killed. In this 
plot was associated Pichegru, who had been connected with 
the 1 8th Fructidor. General Moreau, the hero of Hohen- 
linden, was suspected of knowing something of it. 

It came to light in time, and a general arrest was made of 
those suspected of being privy to it. The first to be tried 
and punished was the Due d'Enghien, who had been seized 
at Ettenheim, in Baden, a short distance from the French 
frontier, on the supposition that he had been coming secretly 
to Paris to be present at the meetings of the conspirators. 
His trial at Vincennes was short, his execution immediate. 
There is good reason to believe that Napoleon had no sus- 
picion that the Due d'Enghien would be executed so soon as 



he was, and even to suppose that he would have Hghtened 
the sentence if the punishment had not been pushed on with 
an irregularity and inhumanity that recalls the days of the 

The execution was a severe blow to Napoleon's popu- 
larity, both at home and abroad. Fouche's cynical remark 
was just : ** The death of the Due d'Enghien is worse than 
a crime; it is a blunder/* Chateaubriand, who had accepted 
a foreign embassy, resigned at once, and a number of the old 
aristocracy, such as Pasquier and Mole, w'ho had been say- 
ing among themselves that it was their duty to support Na- 
poleon's splendid work of reorganization, went back into 
obscurity. .In society the effect was distressing. The mem- 
bers of Napoleon's own household met him with averted 
faces and sad countenances, and Josephine wept until he 
called her a child who understood nothing of politics. 
Abroad there was a revulsion of sympathy, particularly in 
the cabinets of Russia, Prussia, and Austria. 

The trial of Cadoudal and Moreau followed. The former 
with several of his accomplices was executed. Moreau was 
exiled for two years. Pichegru committed suicide in the 

This plot showed Napoleon and his friends that a Jacobin 
or royalist fanatic might any day end the life upon which the 
scheme of reorganization depended. It is true he had already 
been made First Consul for life by a practically unanimous 
vote, but there was need of strengthening his position and 
providing a succession. In March, six days after the death 
of the Due d'Enghien, the Senate proposed to him that he 
complete his work and take the throne. In April the Council 
of State and the Tribunate took up the discussion. The 
opinion of the majority was voiced by Regnault de Saint- 
Jean d'Angely : " It is a long time since all reasonable men, 
all true friends of their country, have wished that the First 


Consul would make himself emperor, and reestablish, in 
favor of his family, the old principles of hereditary suc- 
cession. It is the only means of securing permanency for his 
own fortune, and to the men whom merit has raised to high 
offices. The Republic, which I loved passionately, while I 
detested the crimes of the Revolution, is now in my eyes a 
mere Utopia. The First Consul has convinced me that he 
wishes to possess supreme power only to render France 
great, free, and happy, and to protect her against the fury 
of factions." 

The Senate soon after proceeded in a body to the Tuil- 
eries. " You have extricated us from the chaos of the past," 
said the spokesman ; '' you enable us to enjoy the blessings 
of the present; guarantee to us the future." On the i8th 
of May, 1804, when thirty-five years old, Napoleon was 
first addressed as " sire," and congratulated on his elevation 
to the throne of the French people. 

Immediately his household took on the forms of royalty. 
His mother was Madame Mere; Joseph, Grand- Elector, 
with the title of Imperial Highness ; Louis, Constable, with 
the same title ; his sisters were Imperial Highnesses. Titles 
were given to all officials; the ministers were excellencies; 
Cambaceres and Le Brun, the Second and Third Consuls, 
bcame Arch Chancellor and Arch Treasurer of the Empire. 
Of his generals, Berthier, Murat, Moncey, Jourdan, Mas- 
sena, Augureau, Bernadotte, Soult, Brune, Lannes, Mortier, 
Ney, Davoust, and Bessieres were made marshals. The red 
button of the Legion of Honor was scattered in profusion. 
The title of citoyen, which had been consecrated by the Revo- 
lution, was dropped, and hereafter everybody was called 

Two of Napoleon's brothers, unhappily, had no part in 
these honors. Jerome, who had been serving as lieutenant 
in the navy, had, in 1803, while in the United States, mar- 


ried a Miss Elizabeth Patterson of Baltimore. Napoleon 
forbade the recording of the marriage, and declared it void. 
As Jerome had not as yet given up his wife, he had no share 
in the imperial rewards. Lucien was likewise omitted, and 
for a similar reason. His first wife had died in 1801, and 
much against Napoleon's wishes he had married a Madame 
Jouberthon, to whom he was deeply attached ; nothing could 
induce him to renounce his wife and take the Queen of 
Etruria, as Napoleon wished. The result of his refusal 
was a violent quarrel between the brothers, and Lucien left 

This rupture was certainly a grief to Napoleon. Madame 
de Remusat draws a pathetic little picture of the eflfect upon 
him of the last interview with Lucien : 

'* It was near midnight when Bonaparte came into the room; he was 
deeply dejected, and, throwing himself into an arm-chair, he exclaimed 
in a troubled voice, * It is all over ! I have hroken with Lucien, and 
ordered him from my presence.' Madame Bonaparte began to ex- 
postulate. ' Vou are a good woman.' he said. * to plead for him.' Then 
he rose from his chair, took his wife in his arms, and laid her head softly 
on his vshoulder, and with his hand still resting on the beautiful head, 
which formed a contrast to the sad, set countenance so near it, he told 
us that Lucien had resisted all his entreaties, and that he had resorted 
equally in vain to both threats and persuasion. * It is hard, though,' he 
added, * to find in one's own family such stubborn opposition to interests 
of such magnitude. Must I, then, isolate myself from every one? Must 
I rely on myself alone? Well ! I will suffice to myself; and you, Jose- 
phine — you will be my comfort always," 

A fever of etiquette seized on all the inhabitants of the 
imperial palace of Saint Cloud. The ponderous regulations 
of Louis XIV. were taken down from tthe shelves in the 
library, and from them a code began to be compiled. 
Madame Campan, who had been First Bedchamber Woman 
to Marie Antoinette, was summoned to interpret the solemn 
law, and to describe costumes and customs. Monsieur de 
Talleyrand, W'ho had been made Grand Chamberlain, was an 
authoritv who was consulted on everything. 


" We all felt ourselves more or less elevated," says 
Madame de Remusat. " Vanity is ingenious in its expec- 
tations, and ours were unlimited. Sometimes it was disen- 
chanting, for a moment, to observe the almost ridiculous 
effect which this agitation produced upon certain classes of 
society. Those who had nothing to do with our brand new 
dignities said with Montaigne, * Let us avenge ourselves by 
railing at them.' Jests, more or less witty, and puns, more 
or less ingenious, were lavished on these new-made princes, 
and somewhat disturbed our brilliant visions; but the num- 
ber of those who dare to censure success is small, and flattery 
was much more common than criticism." 

No one was more severe in matters of etiquette than Na- 
poleon himself. He studied the subject with the same at- 
tention that he did the civil code, and in much the same way. 
'* In concert with Monsieur de Segur," he wrote De Cham- 
pagny, '* you must write me a report as to the way in which 
ministers and ambassadors should be received. ... It 
will be well for you to enlighten me as to what was the 
practice at Versailles, and what is done at Vienna and St. 
Petersburg. Once my regulations adopted, everyone must 
conform to them. I am master, to establish what rules I 
like in France." 

He had some difficulty with his old comrades-in-arms, 
who were accustomed to addressing him in the familiar 
second singular, and calling him Bonaparte, and who per- 
sisted, occasionally, even after he was '' sire," in using the 
language of easy intimacy. Lannes was even removed for 
some time from his place near the emperor for an indiscre- 
tion of this kind. 

In August, 1804, the new emperor visited Boulogne to 
receive the congratulations of his army and distribute deco- 
rations. His visit was celebrated by a magnificent fete. 
Those who know the locality of Boulogne, remember, north 


of the town, an amphitheatre-like plain, in the centre of 
which is a hill. In this plain sixty thousand men were 
camped. On the elevation was erected a throne. Hereby 
stood the chair of Dagobert ; behind it the armor of Francis 
I. ; and around rose scores of blood-stained, bullet-shot 
flags, the trophies of Italy and Egypt. Beside the emperor 
was the helmet of Bayard, filled with the decorations to be 
distributed. Up and down the coast were the French bat- 
teries; in the port lay the flotilla; to the right and left 
stretched the splendid army. 

Just as the ceremonies were finished, a fleet of over a 
thousand boats came sailing into the harbor to join those 
already there, while out in the Channel English officers and 
sailors, with levelled glasses, watched from their vessels the 
splendid armament, which was celebrating its approaching 
descent on their shores. 

On December ist the Senate presented the emperor the 
result of the vote taken among the people as to whether 
hereditary succession should be adopted. There were two 
thousand five hundred and seventy-nine votes against; three 
million five hundred and seventy-five thousand for — a vote 
more nearly unanimous than that for the life consulate, 
there being something like nine thousand against him then. 

The next day Napoleon was crowned at Notre Dame. The 
ceremony was prepared with the greatest care. Grand 
Master of Ceremonies de Segur, aided by the painter David, 
drew up the plan and trained the court with great severity 
in the etiquette of the occasion. He had the widest liberty, 
it even being provided that ** if it be indispensable, in order 
that the cortege arrive at Notre Dame with greater facility, 
to pull down some houses," it should be done. By a master 
stroke of diplomacy Napoleon had persuaded Pope Pius 
VII. to cross the Alps to perform for him the solemn and 
ancient service of coronation. 


Of this ceremony we have no better description than that 
of Madame Junot : 

" Who that saw Notre Dame on that memorable day can ever forget 
it? I have witnessed in that venerable pile the celebration of sumptuous 
and solemn festivals ; but never did I see anything at all approximating 
in splendor the spectacle exhibited at Napoleon's coronation. The 
vaulted roof re-echoed the sacred chanting of the priests, who invoked 
the blessing of the Almighty on the ceremony about to be celebrated, 
while they awaited the arrival of the Vicar of Christ, whose throne was 
prepared near the altar. Along the ancient walls covered with magnifi- 
cent tapestry were ranged, according to their rank, the different bodies 
of the state, the deputies from every city; in short, the representatives 
of all France assembled to implore the benediction of Heaven on the 
sovereign of the people's choice. The waving plumes which adorned 
the hats of the senators, counsellors of state, and tribunes ; the splendid 
uniforms of the military; the clergy in all their ecclesiastical pomp; and 
the multitude of young and beautiful women, glittering in jewels, and 
arrayed in that style of grace and elegance which is only seen in Paris ; — 
altogether presented a picture which has, perhaps, rarely been equalled, 
and certainly never excelled. 

*' The Pope arrived first ; and at the moment of his entering the Ca- 
thedral, the anthem Tu es Petrus was commenced. His Holiness ad- 
vanced from the door with an air at once majestic and humble. Ere 
long, the firing of a cannon announced the departure of the procession 
from the Tuileries. From an early hour in the morning the weather had 
been exceeding unfavorable. It was cold and rainy, and appearances 
seemed to indicate that the procession would be anything but agreeable 
to those who joined it. But, as if by the especial favor of Providence, 
of which so many instances are observable in the career of Napoleon, 
the clouds suddenly dispersed, the sky brightened up. and the multitudes 
who lined the streets from the Tuileries to the Cathedral, enjoyed the 
sight of the procession without being, as they had anticipated, drenched 
by a December rain. Napoleon, as he passed along, was greeted by 
heartfelt expressions of enthusiastic love and attachment. 

" On his arrival at Notre Dame, Napoleon ascended the throne, which 
was erected in front of the grand altar. Josephine took her place be- 
side him, surrounded by the assembled sovereigns of Europe. Na- 
poleon appeared singularly calm. I watched him narrowly, with a view 
of discovering whether his heart beat more highly beneath the imperial 
trappings than under the uniform of the guards; but I could observe 
no difference, and yet I was at the distance of only ten paces from him. 
The length of the ceremony, however, seemed to weary him ; and I saw 
him several times check a yawn. Nevertheless, he did everything he was 


required to do, and did it with propriety. When the Pope anointed him 
with the triple unction on his head and both hands. I fancied, from the 
direction of his eyes, that he was thinking of wiping off the oil rather 
than of anything else ; and I was so perfectly acquainted with the work- 
ings of his countenance, that I have no hesitation in saying that was 
really the thought that crossed his mind at that moment. During the 
ceremony of anointing, the Holy Father delivered that impressive prayer 
which concluded with these words : * Diffuse, O Lord, by my hands, the 
treasures of your grace and benediction on your servant Napoleon, 
whom, in spite of our personal unworthiness. we this day anoint em- 
peror, in your name.' Napoleon listened to this prayer with an air of 
pious devotion; but just as the Pope was about to take the crown, called 
the Crown of Charlemagne, from the altar, Napoleon seized it, and 
placed it on his own head. At that moment he was really handsome, 
and his countenance was lighted up with an expression of which no 
words can convey an idea. 

** He had removed the wreath of laurel which he wore on entering 
the church, and which encircles his brow in the fine picture of Gerard. 
The crown was, perhaps, in itself, less becoming to him; but the ex- 
pression excited by the act of putting it on. rendered him perfectly 

"When the moment arrived for Josephine to take an active part in 
the grand drama, she descended from the throne and advanced to- 
wards the altar, where the emperor awaited her, followed by her retinue 
of court ladies, and having her train borne by the Princesses Caroline, 
Julie, Eliza, and Louis. One of the chief beauties of the Empress 
Josephine was not merely her fine figure, but the elegant turn of her 
neck, and the way in which she carried her head ; indeed, her deport- 
ment altogether was conspicuous for dignity and grace. I have had the 
honor of being presented to many real princesses, to use the phrase of 
the Faubourg Saint-Germain, but I never saw one who, to my eyes, pre- 
sented so perfect a personification of elegance and majesty. In Na- 
poleon's countenance I could read the conviction of all I have just 
said. He looked with an air of complacency at the empress as she ad- 
vanced towards him; and when she knelt down, when the tears, which 
she could not repress, fell upon her clasped hands, as they were raised 
to Heaven, or rather to Napoleon, both then appeared to enjoy one of 
those fleeting moments of pure felicity which are unique in a lifetime, 
and serve to fill up a lustrum of years. The emperor performed, with 
peculiar grace, every action required of him during the ceremony; but 
his manner of crowning Josephine was most remarkable : after receiving 
the small crown, surmounted by the cross, he had first to place it on his 
own head, and then to transfer it to that of the empress. When the 
moment arrived for placing the crown on the head of the woman whom 


popular superstition regarded as his good genius, his manner was almost 
playful. He took great pains to arrange this little crown, which was 
placed over Josephine's tiara of diamonds ; he put it on, then took it off, 
and finally put it on again, as if to promise her she should wear it grace- 
fully and lightly." 

The fate of France had no sooner been settled, as Na- 
poleon believed, than it became necessary to decide on what 
should be done with Italy. The crown was offered to 
Joseph, who refused it. He did not want to renounce his 
claim to that of France, and finally Napoleon decided to 
take it himself. A new constitution w^as prepared for the 
country by the French Senate, and, when all w^as arranged, 
Napoleon started on April ist for Italy. A great train ac- 
companied him, and the trip was of especial interest. The 
party crossed the Alps by Mont Cenis, and the road was so 
bad that the carriages had to be taken to pieces and carried 
over, while the travellers walked. This trip really led to the 
fine roads which now cross Mont Cenis. At Alessandria Na- 
poleon halted, and on the field of Marengo ordered a re- 
view of the manoeuvres of the famous battle. At this re- 
view he even wore the coat and hat he had worn on that 
famous day four years before. 

By the time the imperial party was ready to enter Milan, 
on May 13, it had increased to a triumphal procession, and 
the entry was attended by most enthusiastic demonstra- 
tions. On May 26 the coronation took place. The iron 
crown, used so long for the coronation of the Lombard 
kings, had been brought out for the occasion. When the 
point in the ceremony was reached where the crown was to 
be placed on Napoleon's head, he seized it, and with his own 
hands placed it on his head, repeating in a loud voice the 
words inscribed on the crown : " God gives it to me ; beware 
who touches it." Josephine was not crowned Queen of 
Italy, but watched the scene from a gallery above the 


Napoleon remained in Italy for another month, engaged 
in settling the affairs of the country. The order of the 
Crown of Iron was created, the constitution settled. Prince 
Eugene was made viceroy, and Genoa was joined to the 





AUSTRIA looked with jealousy on this increase of 
power, a-nd particularly on the change in the institu- 
tions of her neighbors. In assuming control of the 
Italian and Germanic States, Napoleon gave the people his 
code and his methods; personal liberty, ecjuality before the 
law, religious toleration, took the place of the unjust and nar- 
row feudal institutions. These new ideas were quite as hate- 
ful to Austria as the disturbance in the balance of pewer, and 
more dangerous to her system. Russia and Prussia felt the 
same suspicion of Napoleon as Austria did. All three 
powers w^ere constantly incited to action against France by 
England, who offered unlimited gold if they would but com- 
bine with her. In the summer of 1805 Austria joined Eng- 
land and Russia in a coalition against France. Prussia was 
not yet willing to commit herself. 

The great army which for so many months had been 
gathering around Boulogne, preparing for the descent on 
England, waited anxiously for the arrival of the French 
fleet to cover its passage. But the fleet did not come : and, 
though hoping until the last that his plan would still be 
carried out. Napoleon quietly and swiftly made ready to 
transfer the army of England into the Grand Army, and 
to turn its march against his continental enemies. 

Never was his great war rule, " Time is everything," more 
thoroughly carried out. " Austria will employ fine phrases 



in order to gain time/' he wrote Talleyrand, " and to pre- 
vent me accomplishing anything this year; . . . and in 
April I shall find one hundred thousand Russians in Poland, 
fed by England, twenty thousand English at Malta, and 
fifteen thousand Russians at Corfu. I should then be in a 
critical position. My mind is made up." His orders flew 
from Boulogne to Paris, to the German States, to Italy, to 
his generals, to his naval commanders. By the 28th of 
August the whole army had moved. A month later it had 
crossed the Rhine, and Napoleon was at its head. 

The force which he commanded was in every w'ay an ex- 
traordinary one. Marmont's enthusiastic description was in 
no way an exaggeration : 

** This army, the most beautiful that was ever seen, was less re- 
doubtable from the number of its soldiers than from their nature. 
Almost all of them had carried on war and had won victories. There 
still existed among them something of the enthusiasm and exaltation of 
the Revolutionary campaigns; but this enthusiasm was systematized. 
From the supreme chief down — the chiefs of the army corps, the division 
commanders, the common officers and soldiers — everybody was hardened 
to war. The eighteen months in splendid camps had produced a train- 
ing, an ensemble, which has never existed since to the same degree and 
a boimdless confidence. This army was probably the best and the most 
redoubtable that modern limes have seen." 

The force responded to the imperious genius of its com- 
mander with a beautiful precision which amazes and dazzles 
one who follows its march. So perfectly had all been ar- 
ranged, so exactly did every corps and officer respond, that 
nine days after the passage of the Rhine, the army was in 
Bavaria, several marches in the rear of the enemy. The 
weather was terrible, but nothing checked them. The em- 
'peror himself set the example. Day and night he was on 
horseback in the midst of his troops; once for a week he 
did not take oflf his boots. When they lagged, or the enemy 
harassed them, he would gather each regiment into a circle, 
explain to it the position of the enemy, the imminence of a 

CAMPAIGN OF 1 805 1 65 

great battle, and his confidence in his troops. These haran- 
gues sometimes took place in driving snowstorms, the 
soldiers standing up to their knees in icy slush. By October 
13th, such was the extraordinary march they had made, 
the emperor was able to issue this address to the army : 

" Soldiers, a month ago we were encamped on the shores of the 
ocean, opposite England, when an impious league forced us to fly to the 
Rhine. Not a fortnight ago that river was passed; and the Alps, the 
Neckar, the Danube, and the Lech, the celebrated barriers of Germany, 
have not for a minute delayed our march. . . . The enemy, deceived 
by our manoeuvres and the rapidity of our movements, is entirely turned. 
. . . But for the army before you, we should be in London to-day, 
have avenged six centuries of insult, and have liberated the sea. 

*• Remember to-morrow that you are fighting against the allies of 
England. ... " Napoleon.'' 

Four days after this address came the capitulation of Ulm 
— a '' new Caudine Forks/' as Marmont called it. It was, 
as Napoleon said, a victory won by legs, instead of by arms. 
The great fatigue and the forced marches which the army 
had undergone had gained them sixty thousand prisoners, 
one hundred and twenty guns, ninety colors, more than 
thirty generals, at a cost of but fifteen hundred men, two- 
thirds of them but slightly wounded. 

But there was no rest for the army. Before the middle 
of November it had so surrounded Vienna that the emperor 
and his court had fled to Briinn, seventy or eighty miles 
north of Vienna, to meet the Russians, who, under Alex- 
ander I., were coming from Berlin. Thither Napoleon 
followed them, but the Austrians retreated eastward, join- 
ing the Russians at Olmiitz. The combined force of the 
allies was now some ninety thousand men. They had a 
strong reserve, and it looked as if the Prussian army w^ 
about to join them. Napoleon at Brunn had only some 
seventy or eighty thousand men, and was in the heart of 
the enemy's country. Alexander, flattered by his aides, and 

Engrived in 1S12 liy M: 

CAMPAIGN OF 1805 167 

confident that he was able to defeat the French, resolved 
to leave his strong position at Olmiitz and seek battle with 

The position the French occupied can be understood if 
one draws a rough diagram of a right-angled triangle, 
Briinn being at the right angle formed by two roads, one 
running south to Vienna, by which Napoleon had come, 
and the other running eastward to Olmutz. The hypot- 
enuse of this angle, running from northeast to southwest, is 
formed by Napoleon's army. 

When the allies decided to leave Olmutz their plan was 
to march southwestward, in face of Napoleon's line, get be- 
tween him and Vienna, and thus cut oflf what they supposed 
was his base of supplies (in this they were mistaken, for 
Napoleon had, unknown to them, changed his base from 
Vienna to Bohemia), separate him from his Italian army, and 
drive him, routed, into Bohemia. 

On the 27th of November the allies advanced, and their 
first encounter with a small French vanguard was successful. 
It gave them confidence, and they continued their march on 
the 28th, 29th, and 30th, gradually extending a long line 
facing westward and parallel with Napoleon's line. The 
French emperor, while this movement was going on, was 
rapidly calling up his reserves and strengthening his posi- 
tion. By the first day of December Napoleon saw clearly 
what the allies intended to do, and had formed his plan. 
The events of that day confirmed his ideas. By nine o'clock 
in the evening he was so certain of the plan of the coming 
battle that he rode the length of his line, explaining to his 
troops the tactics of the allies, and what he himself pro- 
posed to do. 

Napoleon's appearance before the troops, his confident 
assurance of victory, called out a brilliant demonstration 
from the army. The divisions of infantry raised bundles of 

T -.^ - ^sT >'les, giving him an 

..- - vel. It was a hapj))' 

- -r jtt: ••r'sarv of his coronation. 

....-: • -•• ^i3lC all night. At four 

...^ •- - : : December he was in the 

^ r'^i he saw the enemy's divis- 

_ .- -»: :^'i divined. Three coq)s 

- \ r^T j>art of the hypotenuse. 

•.cr«::i p«.">sition facing his centre. 

- r-rr- >.ai.1 left their centre weak and 

<r! ;iri:i^: the body of the army from 

..-■•- eft. The enemv was in ex- 

..:• er. wished for the attack he 

.X r :he morning when the emperor 

T •.- c a-.r:ing to the army that the enemy 

-V : ;:*•■ ^"'>i"g otit: " Close the campaign 

• c'- The generals nxle to their posi- 

,.T t •drtie opened. Soult, who commanded 

r .:':'i<'<t^\ the allies' centre so iine.xpectedly 

■ c" ••:' retreat. The Emperor Alexander 

v.* . i '^''^ •^■«^^'? i" ^his part of the army, and 

^ .'-^ -nr lid his lest to rouse his forces, it was 

" ^^^ ..j^ r>r Russian centre was defeated and the 

-.^, V: :!"e <anie time the allies' left, where the 

^ i^»i irrv was massed in a marshy country of 

.^» crt:*^ >">. ^vas engaged and held in check by 

.»^. '^fT richt was *n-ercome by Lannes. Murat, 

:^>HiK.Kir< \> >*^'" ^^ t'lc centre and right of the 

.^^ xv? -rxcn into retreat. Napoleon concentrated 

..^.t^ »» ""^*' ■^*"' ^'^^* strongest part of his enemy. In 

^ ^s »• • 'V :'":o aV.ios were driven back into the canals 

. ►^ • :'*^ v^vuntry. and many men and nearly all 

CAMPAIGN OF 1805 169 

the artillery lost. Before night the routed enemy had fallen 
back 10 Austerlitz. 

Of all Napoleon's battles. Austerlitz was the one of which 
he was the proudest. It was here that he showed best the 
" divine side of war." 

The familiar note in which Napoleon announced to his 
brother Joseph the result of the battle, is a curious contrast 
to the oratorical bulletins which for some days flowed to 
Paris. His letter is dated Austerlitz, December 3, 1805 : 

*' After manoeuvring for a few days I fought a decisive battle yester- 
day. I defeated the combined armies commanded by the Emperors of 
Russia and Germany. Their force consisted of eighty thousand Rus- 
sians and thirty thousand Austrians. I have made forty thousand 
prisoners, taken forty flags, one hundred guns, and all the standards of 
the Russian Imperial Guard. . . . Although I have bivouacked in 
the open air for a week, my health is good. This evening I am in bed 
in the beautiful castle of Monsieur de Kaunitz. and have changed my 
shirt for the first time in eight days.** 

The battle of Austerlitz obliged Austria to make peace (the 
treaty was signed at Presburg on December 26, 1805), com- 
pelled Russia to retiredisabled from the field, transformed the 
haughty Prussian ultimatim which had just been presented 
into humble submission, and changed the rejoicings of 
England over the magnificent naval victory of Trafalgar 
(October 21st) into despair. It even killed Pitt. Napoleon 
it enabled to make enormous strides in establishing a 
kingdom of the West. Naples was given to Joseph, the 
Bavarian Republic was made a kingdom for Louis, and the 
states between the Lahn, the Rhine, and the Upper Danube 
were formed into a league, called the Confederation of the 
Rhine, and Napoleon was made Protector. 

At the beginning of 1806 Napoleon was again in Paris. 
He had been absent but three months. Eight months of this 
year were spent in fruitless negotiations with England and 
in an irritating correspondence with Prussia. The latter 



blazing straw on the ends of long poles, giving him an 
illumination as imposing as it was novel. It was a happy 
thought, for the day was the anniversary of his coronation. 

The emperor remained in bivouac all night. At four 
o'clock of the morning of the 2d of December he was in the 
saddle. When the gray fog lifted he saw the enemy's divis- 
ions arranged exactly as he had divined. Three corps 
faced his right — the southwest part of the hypotenuse. 
These corps had left a splendid position facing his centre, 
the heights of Pratzen. 

This advance of the enemy had left their centre weak and 
unprotected, and had separated the body of the army from 
its right, facing Napoleon's left. The enemy was in ex- 
actly the position Napoleon wished for the attack he 
had planned. 

It was eight o'clock in the morning when the emperor 
galloped up his line, proclaiming to the army that the enemy 
had exposed himself, and crying out: *' Close the campaigTi 
with a clap of thunder." The generals rode to their posi- 
tions, and at once the battle opened. Soult, who commanded 
the French centre, attacked the allies' centre so unexpectedly 
that it was driven into retreat. The Emperor Alexander 
and his headquarters were in this part of the army, and 
though the young czar did his best to rouse his forces, it was 
a hopeless task. The Russian centre was defeated and the 
wings divided. At the same time the allies' left, where the 
bulk of their army was massed in a marshy country of 
which they knew little, was engaged and held in check by 
Davoust, and their right was overcome by Lannes, Murat, 
and Bemadotte. As soon as the centre and right of the 
allies had been driven into retreat, Napoleon concentrated 
his forces on their left, the strongest part of his enemy. In 
a verv short time the allies were driven back into the canals 
and lakes of the country, and many men and nearly all 

W thft!i ail 

CAMPAIGN OF 1805 171 

had many grievances against Napoleon, the sum of 
thft!i ail being that " French politics had been the scourge 
lanity for the last fifteen years," and that an " in- 
satiable ambition was still the ruling passion of France." 
By the end of September war was declared, and Napoleon, 
whose preparations had been conducted secretly, it being 
given out that he was going to Compiegne to hunt, suddenly 
joined his army. 

The first week of October the Grand Army advanced from 
southern Germany towards the valley of the Saale. This 
movement brought them on the flanks of the Prussians, who 
were scattered along the upper Saale. The unexpected ap- 
pearance of the French army, which was larger and much 
better organized than the Prussians, caused the latter to 
retreat towards the Elbe. The retreating army was in two 
divisions ; the first crossing the Saale to Jena, the second 
falling back towards the Unstrut. As soon as Napoleon 
understood these movements he despatched part of his force 
under Davoust and Bernadotte to cut off the retreat of the 
second Prussian division, while he himself hurried on to 
Jena to force battle on the first. The Prussians were en- 
camped at the foot of a height known as the Landgrafen- 
berg. To command this height was to command the Prus- 
sian forces. By a series of determined and repeated efforts 
Napoleon reached the position desired, and by the morning 
of the 14th of October had his foes in his power. Ad- 
vancing from the Landgrafenberg in three divisions, he 
turned the Prussian flanks at the same moment that he at- 
tacked their centre. The Prussians never fought better, 
perhaps, than at Jena. The movements of their cavalry 
awakened even Napoleon's admiration, but they were sur- 
rounded and outnumbered, and the army was speedily 
broken into pieces and driven into a retreat. 

While Napoleon was fighting at Jena, to the right at 

CAMPAIGN OF 1805 171 

country had many grievances against Napoleon, the sum of 
them all being that ** French politics had been the scourge 
of humanity for the last fifteen years," and that an '' in- 
satiable ambition was still the ruling passion of France/* 
By the end of September war was declared, and Napoleon, 
whose preparations had been conducted secretly, it being 
given out that he was going to Compiegne to hunt, suddenly 
joined his army. 

The first week of October the Grand Army advanced from 
southern Germany towards the valley of the Saale. This 
movement brought them on the flanks of the Prussians, who 
were scattered along the upper Saale. The unexpected ap- 
pearance of the French army, which was larger and much 
better organized than the Prussians, caused the latter to 
retreat towards the Elbe. The retreating army was in two 
divisions; the first crossing the Saale to Jena, the second 
falling back towards the Unstrut. As soon as Napoleon 
understood these movements he despatched part of his force 
under Davoust and Bernadotte to cut off the retreat of the 
second Prussian division, while he himself hurried on to 
Jena to force battle on the first. The Prussians were en- 
camped at the foot of a height known as the Landgrafen- 
berg. To command this height was to command the Prus- 
sian forces. By a series of determined and repeated efforts 
Napoleon reached the position desired, and by the morning 
of the 14th of October had his foes in his power. Ad- 
vancing from the Landgrafenberg in three divisions, he 
turned the Prussian flanks at the same moment that he at- 
tacked their centre. The Prussians never fought better, 
perhaps, than at Jena. The movements of their cavalry 
awakened even Napoleon's admiration, but they were sur- 
rounded and outnumbered, and the army was speedily 
broken into pieces and driven into a retreat. 

While Napoleon was fighting at Jena, to the right at 


Auerstadt, Davoust was engaging Brunswick and his 
seventy thousand men with a force of twenty-seven thous- 
sand. In spite of the great difference in numbers the Prus- 
sians were unable to make any impression on the French; 
and Brunswick falling, they began to retreat towards Jena, 
expecting to join the other division of the army, of whose 
route they were ignorant. The result was frightful. The 
two flying armies suddenly encountered each other, and, 
pursued by the French on either side, were driven in con- 
fusion towards the Elbe. 

On October 25th the French were at Berlin. Their entry 
was one of the great spectacles of the campaign. One par- 
ticularly interesting incident was the visit paid to Napoleon 
by the Protestant and Calvinist French clergy. There 
were at that time twelve thousand French refugees in Berlin, 
victims of the revocation of the Edict of Nantes. They were 
received with kindness by Napoleon, who told them they had 
good right to protection, and that their privileges and wor- 
ship should be respected. 

Jena brought Napoleon something like one hundred and 
sixty million francs in money, an enormous number of 
prisoners, guns, and standards, the glory of the entry of 
Berlin, and a great number of interesting articles for the 
Napoleon Museum of Paris, among them the column from 
the field of Rosbach, the sword, the ribbon of the black eagle, 
and the general's sash of Frederick the Great, and the flags 
carried by his guards during the Seven Years' War. But 
it did not secure him peace. The King of Prussia threw 
himself into the arms of Russia, and Napoleon advanced 
boldly into Poland to meet his enemy. 

The Poles welcomed the French with joy. They hoped 
to find in Napoleon the liberator of their country, and they 
poured forth money and soldiers to reenforce him. " Our 
entry into Varsovia," wrote Napoleon, " was a triumph. 

CAMPAIGN OF 1805 173 

and the sentiments that the Poles of all classes show since 
our arrival cannot be expressed. Love of country and the 
national sentiment are not only entirely conserved in the 
heart of the people, but it has been intensified by misfor- 
tune. Their first passion, their first desire, is again to be- 
come a nation. The rich come from their chateaux, praying 
for the reestablishment of the nation, and offering their 
children, their fortunes, and their influence." Everything 
was done during the months the French remained in Poland, 
to flatter and aid the army. 

The campaign against the Russians was carried on in 
Old Prussia, to the southeast of the Gulf of Dantzic. Its 
first great engagement was the battle of Eylau on February 
8, 1807. This was the closest drawn battle Napoleon had 
ever fought. His loss was enormous, and he was saved 
only by a hair's-breadth from giving the enemy the field of 
battle. After Eylau the main army w^ent into winter quar- 
ters to repair its losses, while Marshal Lefebvre besieged 
Dantzic, a siege which military critics declare to be, after 
Sebastopol, the most celebrated of modern times. Dantzic 
capitulated in May. On June 14th the battle of Friedland 
was fought. This battle on the anniversary of Marengo, was 
won largely by Napoleon's taking advantage of a blunder 
of his opponent. The French and the Russian armies were 
on the opposite banks of the Alle. Benningsen, the Russian 
commander, was marching towards Konigsberg by the east- 
ern bank. Napoleon was pursuing by the western bank. 
The French forces, however, were scattered; and Benning- 
sen, thinking that he could engage and easily rout a portion 
of the army by crossing the river at Friedland, suddenly led 
his army across to the western bank. Napoleon utilized 
this unwise movement with splendid skill. Calling up his 
re-enforcements he attacked the enemy solidly. As soon as 
the Russian centre was broken, defeat was inevitable, for 


.wurred June »6. 1807. 

CAMPAIGN OF i805 175 

the retreating army was driven into the river, and thou- 
sands lost. Many were pursued through the streets of 
Friedland by the French, and slaughtered there. The battle 
was hardly over when Napoleon wrote to Josephine : 

" Friedland, 15th June, 1807. 

"My Dear: I write you only a few words, for I am very tired. 
I have been bivouacking for several days. My children have worthily 
celebrated the anniversary of Marengo. The battle of Friedland will 
be just as celebrated and as glorious for my people. The whole Russian 
army routed eighty guns captured, thirty thousand men taken prisoners 
or killed, with twenty-five generals ; the Russian guard annihilated : it is 
the worthy sister of Marengo, Austerlitz, and Jena. The bulletin will 
tell you the rest. My loss is not large. I successfully out-manoeuvred 
the enemy. " Napoleon." 

Friedland ended the war. Directly after the battle Na- 
poleon went to Tilsit, which for the time was made neutral 
ground, and here he met the Emperor of Russia and the 
King of Prussia, and the map of Europe was made over. 

The relations between the royal parties seem to have been 
for the most part amiable. Napoleon became very fond of 
Alexander I. at Tilsit. " Were he a woman I think I should 
make love to him/* he wrote Josephine once. Alexander, 
young and enthusiastic, had a deep admiration for Na- 
poleon's genius, and the two became good comrades. The 
King of Prussia, overcome by his losses, was a sorrowful 
figure in their company. It was their habit at Tilsit to go 
out every day on horseback, but the king was awkward, 
always crowding against Napoleon, beside whom he rode, 
and making his two companions wait for him to climb from 
the saddle when he returned. Their dinners together were 
dull, and the emperors, very much in the style of two care- 
less, fun-loving youths, bored by a solemn elderly relative, 
were accustomed after dinner to make excuses to go home 
early but later to meet at the apartments of one or the other, 
and to talk together until after midnight. 

CAMPAIGN OF 1805 177 

Just before the negotiation were completed, Queen Louise 
arrived, and tried to use her influence with Napoleon to 
obtain at least Magdeburg. Napoleon accused the queen to 
Las Cases of trying to win him at first by a scene of high 
tragedy. But when they came to meet at dinner, her policy 
was quite another. " The Queen of Prussia dined with me 
to-day," w rote Napoleon to the empress on July 7th. *' I 
had to defend myself against being obliged to make some 
further concessions to her husband ;...'* and the next 
day, " The Queen of Prussia is really charming; she is full 
of coquetteric towards me. But do not be jealous; I am 
an oilcloth, off which all that runs. It would cost me too 
dear to play the galant," 

The intercessions of the queen really hurried on the treaty. 
When she learned that it had been signed, and her wishes 
not granted, she was indignant, wept bitterly, and refused 
to go to the second dinner to which Napoleon had invited 
her. Alexander was obliged to go himself to decide her. 
After the dinner, when she withdrew. Napoleon accom- 
panied her. On the staircase she stopped. 

" Can it be," she said, " that after I have had the happi- 
ness of seeing so near me the man of the age and of history, 
I am not to have the liberty and satisfaction of assuring him 
that he has attached me for life? ..." 

** Madame, I am to be pitied," said the emperor gravely. 
" It is my evil star." 

By the treaty of Tilsit the map of the continent was trans- 
formed. Prussia lost half her territory. Dantzic was made 
a free town. Magdeburg went to France. Hesse-Cassel 
and the Prussian possessions west of the Elbe w-ent to form 
the kingdom of Westphalia. The King of Saxony received 
the grand duchy of Warsaw. Finland and the Danubian 
principalities were to go to Alexander in exchange for cer- 
tain Ionian islands and the Gulf of Cattaro in Dalmatia. 


Of far more importance than this change of boundaries 
was the private understanding which the emperors came to at 
Tilsit. They agreed that the Ottoman Empire was to re- 
main as it was unless they saw fit to change its boundaries. 
Russia might occupy the principaHties as far as the Danube. 
Peace was to be made, if possible, with England, and the 
two powers were to work together to bring it about. If 
they failed, Russia was to force Sweden to close her ports 
to Great Britain, and Napoleon was to do the same in Den- 
mark, Portugal, and the States of the Pope. Nothing was 
to be done about Poland by Napoleon. 

According to popular belief, the secret treaty of Tilsit in- 
cluded plans much more startling : the two emi)erors pledged 
themselves to drive the Bourbons from Spain and the Bra- 
ganzas from Portugal, and to replace them by Bonapartes; 
give Russia Turkey in Eur()i)e and as much of Asia as she 
wanted ; end the temporal power of the Pope ; place France 
in Egypt; shut the English from the Mediterranean; and 
to undertake several other equally ambitious enterprises. 



NAPOLEON'S influence in Europe was now at its 
zenith. He was literally ** king of kings," as he 
was popularly called, and the Bonaparte family 
was rapidly displacing the Bourbon. Joseph had been made 
King of Naples in 1806. Eliza was Princess of Lucques 
and Piombino. Louis, married to Hortense, had been King 
of Holland since 1806. Pauline had been the Princess Bor- 
ghese since 1803; Caroline, the wife of Murat, was Grand 
Duchess of Cleves and Berg; Jerome was King of West- 
phalia ; Eugene de Beauharnais, Viceroy of Italy, was mar- 
ried to a princess of Bavaria. 

The members of Napoleon's family were elevated only on 
condition that they act strictly in accordance with his plans. 
They must marry so as to cement the ties necessary to his 
kingdom. They must arrange their time, form their friend- 
ships, spend their money, as it best served the interests of 
his great scheme of conquest. The interior affairs of their 
kingdoms were in reality centralized in his hands as perfectly 
as those of France. He watched the private and public con- 
duct of his kings and nobles, and criticised them with ab- 
solute frankness and extraordinarv common sense. The 
ground on which he protected them is well explained in the 
following letter, written in January, 1806, to Count Miot 
de Melito : 

** You are going to rejoin my brother. You will tell him that I have 
made him King of Naples; that he will continue to be Grand Elector, 


ingravtd \>y C. S. Pradicr in iBij. after Ci 


and that nothing will be changed as regards his relations with France. 
But impress upon him that the least hesitation, the slightest wavering, 
will ruin him entirely. I have another person in my mind who will re- 
place him should he refuse. ... At present all feelings of affection 
yield to state reasons. I recognize only those who serve me as relations. 
My fortune is not attached to the nstrffe 6f Bonaparte, but to that of Na- 
poleon. It is with my fingers and with fny pen that I make children. 
To-day I can love only those whom I esteem. Joseph must forget all 
our ties of childhood. Let him make himself esteemed. Let him ac- 
quire glory. Let him have a leg broken in battle. Then I shall esteem 
him. I-et him give up his old ideas. Let him not dread fatigue. Look 
at me: the campaign I have just terminated, the movement, the ex- 
citement, have made me stout. I believe that if all the kings of Europe 
were to coalesce against me. I should have a ridiculous paunch." 

Joseph, bent on being a great king, boasted now and then 
to Napoleon of his position in Naples. His brother never 
failed to silence him with the truth, if it was blunt and hard 
to digest. 

** When you talk about the fifty thousand enemies of the queen, you 
make me laugh. . . . You exaggerate the degree of hatred which 
the queen has left behind at Naples: you do not know mankind. There 
are not twenty persons who hate her as you suppose, and there are not 
twenty persons who would not surrender to one of her smiles. The 
strongest feeling of hatred on the part of a nation is that inspired by an- 
other nation. Your fifty thousand men are the enemies of the French." 

With Jerome, Napoleon had been particularly incensed 
because of his marriage with Miss Patterson. In 1804 
he wrote of that affair : 

"... Jerome is wrong to think that he will be able to count upon 
any weakness on my part, for, not having the rights of a father, I cannot 
entertain for him the feeling of a father: a father allows himself to be 
blinded, and it pleases him to be blinded because he identifies his son 
with himself. . . . But what am I to Jerome? Sole instrument of 
my destiny. I owe nothing to my brothers. They have made an abun- 
dant harvest out of what I have accomplished in the way of glory; but 
for all that, they must not abandon the field and deprive me of the aid 
I have a right to expect from them. They will cease to be anything for 
me. directly they take a road opposed to mine. If I exact .so much from 
my brothers who have already rendered many services, if I have aban- 


doned the one who in mature age [Lucien], refused to follow my advice, 
what must not Jerome, who is still young, and who is known only for 
his neglect of duty, expect? If he does nothing for me, I shall see in 
this the decree of destiny, which has decided that I shall do nothing 
for him. . . ." 

Jerome yielded later to his brother's wishes, and in 1807 
was rewarded with the new kingdom of Westphalia. Napo- 
leon kept close watch of him, however, and his letters are full 
of admirable counsels. The following is particularly valu- 
able, showing, as it does, that Napoleon believed a govern- 
ment would be popular and enduring only in proportion to 
the liberty and prosperity it gave the citizens. 

" What the German peoples desire with impatience [he told Jerome], 
is that persons who are not of noble birth, and who have talents, shall 
have an equal right to your consideration and to public employment 
(with those who are of noble birth) ; that every sort of servitude and of 
intermediate obligations between the sovereign and the lowest class of 
the people should be entirely abolished. The benefits of the Code Na- 
poleon, the publicity of legal procedure, the establishment of the jury 
system, will be the distinctive characteristics of your monarchy. . . . 
I count more on the effect of these benefits for the extension and 
strengthening of your kingdom, than upon the result of the greatest 
victories. Your people ought to enjoy a liberty, an equality, a well- 
being, unknown to the German peoples. . . . What people would 
wish to return to the arbitrary government of Prussia, when it has 
tasted the benefits of a wise and liberal administration? The peoples of 
Germany. France, Italy, Spain, desire equality, and demand that liberal 
ideas should prevail. ... Be a constitutional king." 

Louis in Holland was never a king to Napoleon's mind. 
He especially disliked his quarrels wMth his wife. In 1807 
Napoleon wrote Louis, apropos of his domestic relations, a 
letter which is a good example of scores of others he sent 
to one and another of his kings and princes about their pri- 
vate affairs. 

" You govern that country too much like a Capuchin. The goodness 
of a king should be full of majesty. ... A king orders, and asks 
nothing from any one. . . . When people say of a king that he is 
good, his reign is a failure. . . . Your quarrels with the queen are 


known to the public. You should exhibit at home that paternal and ef- 
feminate character you show in your manner of governing. . . . You 
treat a young wife as you would command a regiment. Distrust the 
people by whom you are surrounded ; they are nobles. . . . You have 
the best and most virtuous of wives, and you render her miserable. Al- 
low her to dance as much as she likes; it is in keeping with her age. 
I have a wife who is forty years of age; from the field of battle I 
write to her to go to balls, and you wish a young woman of twenty 
to live in a cloister, or, like a nurse, to be always wa.shing her 
children. . . . Render the mother of your children happy. You 
have only one way of doing so. by showing her esteem and confidence. 
Unfortunately you have a wife who is too virtuous: if you had a 
coquette, she would lead you by the nose. But you have a proud wife, 
who is offended and grieved at the mere idea that you can have a bad 
opinion of her. You should have had a wife like some of those whom 
I know in Paris. She would have played you false, and you would have 

been at her feet. . . . 

" Napoleon." 

With his sisters he was quite as positive. While Josephine 
adapted herself with grace and tact to her great position, 
the Bonaparte sisters, especially Pauline, were constantly 
irritating somebody by their vanity and jealousy. The 
following letter to Pauline shows how little Napoleon spared 
them when their performances came to his ears : 

" Madame and Dear Sister: I have learned with pain that you have 
not the good sense to conform to the manners and customs of the city 
of Rome; that you show contempt for the inhabitants, and that your 
eyes are unceasingly turned towards Paris. Although occupied with 
vast affairs, I nevertheless desire to make known my wishes, and I hope 
that you will conform to them. 

" I love your husband and his family, be amiable, accustom yourself 

to the usages of Rome, and put this in your head: that if you follow 

bad advice you will no longer be able to count upon me. You may be 

sure that you will find no support in Paris, and that I shall never receiye 

you there without your husband. If you quarrel with him. it will be 

your fault, and France will be closed to you. You will sacrifice your 

happiness and my esteem. 

" Bonaparte." 

This supervision of policy, relations, and conduct extended 
to his generals. The case of General Berthier is one to the 

Engiaved by Moighen in iSn, «fWr C( 


point. Chief of Napoleon's staff in Italy, he had fallen in 
love at Milan with a Madame Visconti, and had never been 
able to conquer his passion. In Egypt Napoleon called him 
" chief of the lovers* faction," that part of the army which, 
because of their desire to see wives or sweethearts, were con- 
stantly revolting against the campaign, and threatening to 

In 1804 Berthier had been made marshal, and in 1806 
Napoleon wished to give him the princedom of Neufchatel ; 
but it was only on condition that he give up Madame de 
Visconti, and marry. 

" I exact only one condition, which is that you get married. Your 
passion has lasted long enough. It has become ridiculous; and I have 
the right to hope that the man whom I have called my companion in 
arms, who will be placed alongside of me by posterity, will no longer 
abandon himself to a weakness without example. . . . You know 
that no one likes you better than I do, but you know also that the first 
condition of my friendship is that it must be made subordinate to my 

Berthier fled to Josephine for help, weeping like a child; 
but she could do nothing, and he married the woman chosen 
for him. Three months after the ceremony, the husband 
of Madame de Visconti died and Berthier, broken-hearted, 
wrote to the Prince Borghese : 

** You know how often the emperor pressed me to obtain a divorce for 
Madame de Visconti. But a divorce was always repugnant to the feel- 
ings in which I was educated, and therefore I waited. To-day Madame 
de Visconti is free, and I might have been the happiest of men. But 
the emperor forced me into a marriage which hinders me from uniting 
myself to the only woman I ever loved. Ah, my dear prince, all that 
the emperor has done and may yet do for me, will be no compensation 
for the eternal misfortunes to which he has condemned me." 

Never was Napoleon more powerful than at the end of 
the period we have been tracing so rapidly, never had he so 
looked the emperor. An observer who watched him through 


the Te Deum sung at Notre Dame in his honor, on his re- 
turn from Tilsit, says : ** His features, always calm and 
serious, recalled the cameos which represent the Roman 
emperors. He was small ; still his whole person, in this 
imposing ceremony, was in harmony with the part he was 
playing. A sword glittering with precious stones was at 
his side, and the glittering diamond called the ** Regent *' 
formed its pommel. Its brilliancy did not let us forget that 
this sword was the sharpest and the most victorious that 
the world had seen since those of Alexander and C?esar.'' 

Certainly he never worked more prodigiously. The 
campaigns of 1805- 1807 were, in spite of their rapid move- 
ment, — indeed, because of it. — terribly fatiguing for him; 
that they were possible at all was due mainly to the fact that 
they had been made on paper so many times in his study. 
When he was consul the only room opening from his study 
w^as filled with enormous maps of all the countries of the 
world. This room was presided over by a competent 
cartographer. Frequently these maps were brought to the 
study and spread upon the floor. Napoleon would get 
dow^n upon them on all fours, and creep about, compass and 
red pencil in hand, comparing and measuring distances, and 
studying the configuration of the land. If he was in doubt 
about anything, he referred it to his librarian, who was ex- 
pected to give him the fullest details. 

Attached to his cabinet were skilful translators, whose 
business was not only to translate diplomatic correspond- 
ence, but to gather from foreign sources full information 
about the armies of his enemies. Meneval declares that the 
emperor knew the condition of foreign armies as well as he 
did that of his ow^n. 

The amount of information he had about other lands was 
largely due to his ability to ask questions. When he sent 
to an agent for a report, he rattled at him a volley of ques- 


tions, always to the point ; and the agent knew that it would 
never do to let one go unanswered. 

While carrying on the Austrian and Prussian campaigns 
of 1 805- 1 807, Napoleon showed, as never before, his extra- 
ordinary capacity for attending to everything. The number 
of despatches he sent out was incredible. In the first three 
months of 1807, while he was in Poland, he wrote over 
seventeen hundred letters and despatches. 

It was not simply war, the making of kingdoms, the direc- 
tions of his new-made kings; minor affairs of the greatest 
variety occupied him. While at Boulogne, tormented by the 
failure of the English invasion and the war against Austria, 
he ordered that horse races should be established " in those 
parts of the empire the most remarkable for the horses they 
breed ; prizes shall be awarded to the fleetest horses.'' The 
very day after the battle of Friedland, he was sending orders 
to Paris about the form and site of a statue to the memory 
of the Bishop of Vannes. He criticised from Poland the 
quarrels of Parisian actresses, ordered canals, planned there 
for the Bourse and the Odeon Theatre. The newspapers he 
watched as he did when in Paris, reprimanded this editor, 
suspended that, forbade the publication of news of disasters 
to the French navy, censured every item honorable to his 
enemies. To read the bulletines issued from Jena to Fried- 
land, one would believe that the writer had no business other 
than that of regulating the interior affairs of France. This 
care of details went, as Pasquier says, to the " point of 
minuteness, or, to speak plainly, to that of charlatanism ; " 
but it certainly did produce a deep impression upon France. 
That he could establish himself five hundred leagues from 
Paris, in the heart of winter, in a country encircled by his 
enemies, and yet be in daily communication with his capital, 
could direct even its least important affairs as if he were 
present, could know what every person of influence, from 


the Secretary of State to the humblest newspaper man, was 
doing, caused a superstitious feeling to rise in France, and 
in all Europe, that the emperor of the French people was 
not only omnipotent, but omnipresent. 




WHEN Napoleon, in 1805, was obliged to abandon 
the descent on England and turn the magnifi- 
cent army gathered at Boulogne against Austria, 
he by no means gave up the idea of one day humbling his 
enemy. Persistently throughout the campaigns of 1805- 
1807 his despatches and addresses remind Frenchmen that 
vengeance is only deferred. 

In every way he strives to awaken indignation and hatred 
against England. The alliance which has compelled him to 
turn his armies against his neighbors on the Continent, he 
characterizes as an ** unjust league fomented by the hatred 
and gold of England.'' He tells the soldiers of the Grand 
Army that it is English gold which has transported the 
Russian army from the extremities of the universe to fight 
them. He charges the horrors of Austerlitz upon the Eng- 
lish. " May all the blood shed, may all these misfortunes, 
fall upon the perfidious islanders who have caused them! 
May the cowardly oligarchies of London support the con- 
sequences of so many woes! '* From now on, all the treaties 
he makes are drawn up with a view to humbling ** the eternal 
enemies of the Continent." 

Negotiation for peace went on, it is true, in 1806, between 
the two countries. Napoleon offered to return Hanover 
and Malta. He offered several things which belonged to 
other people, but England refused all of his combinations; 



and when, a few days after Jena, he addressed his army, 
it was to tell them : ** We shall not lay down our arms until 

we have obliged the English, those eternal enemies of our 

nation, to renounce their plan of troubling the Continent 

and their tyranny of the seas/' 

A month later — November 21, 1806 — he proclaimed the 
famous Decree of Berlin, his future policy towards Great 
Britain. As she had shut her enemies from the sea, he would 
shut her from the land. The " continental blockade,'' as this 
struggle of land against sea was called, was only using Eng- 
land's own weapon of war ; but it was using it with a sweep- 
ing audacity, thoroughly Napoleonic in conception and in 
the proposed execution. Henceforth, all communication was 
forbidden between the British Isles and France and her allies. 
Every Englishman found under French authority — and that 
was about all the Continent as the emperor estimated it 
— was a prisoner of war. Every dollar's worth of English 
property found within Napoleon's boundaries, whether it 
belonged to rich trader or inoffensive tourist, was prize of 
war. If one remembers the extent of the seaboard which 
Napoleon at that moment commanded, the full peril of this 
menace to English commerce is clear. From St. Petersburg 
to Trieste there was not a port, save those of Denmark and 
Portugal, which would not close at his bidding. At Tilsit 
he and Alexander had entered into an agreement to complete 
this seaboard, to close the Baltic, the Channel, the European 
Atlantic, and the Mediterranean to the English. This was 
nothing else than asking Continental Europe to destroy her 
commerce for their sakes. 

There were several serious uncertainties in the scheme. 
What retaliation would England make? Could Napoleon 
and Alexander agree long enough to succeed in dividing the 
valuable portions of the continents of Europe, Asia, and 
Africa? Would the nations cheerfully give up the English 

Eiitrived bjr RuolU, after Cros. 


cottons and tweeds they had been buying, the boots they had 
been wearing, the cutlery and dishes they had been using? 
Would they cheerfully see their own products lie uncalled 
for in their warehouses, for the sake of aiding a foreign 
monarch — although the most brilliant and powerful on 
earth — to carry out a vast plan for crushing an enemy who 
was not their enemy? It remained to be seen. 

In the meantime there was the small part of the coast line 
remaining independent to be joined to the portion already 
blockaded to the English. There was no delay in Napoleon's 
action. Denmark was ordered to choose between war with 
England and war with France. Portugal was notified that 
if her ports were not closed in forty days the French and 
Spanish armies would invade her. England gave a drastic 
reply to Napoleon's measures. In August she appeared be- 
fore Copenhagen, seized the Danish fleet, and for three days 
bombarded the town. This unjustifiable attack on a nation 
with which she was at peace horrified Europe, and it sup- 
ported the emperor in pushing to the uttermost the Berlin 
Decree. He made no secret of his determination. In a 
diplomatic audience at Fontainebleau, October 14, 1807, 
he declared : 

*' Great Britain shall be destroyed. I have the means of doing it, 
and they shall be employed. I have three hundred thousand men 
devoted to this object, and an ally who has three hundred thousand to 
support them. I will permit no nation to receive a minister from 
Great Britain until she shall have renounced her maritime usages and 
tyranny; and I desire you. gentlemen, to convey this determination 
to your respective sovereigns." 

Such an alarming extent did the blockade threaten to take, 
that even our minister to France, Mr. Armstrong, began to 
be nervous. His diplomatic acquaintances told him cyn- 
ically, ** You are much favored, but it won't last ; " and, in 
fact, it was not long before it was evident that the United 



^: - rer-^in neutral. Napoleon's 
'•"^ 1 i^r in J decisive: 

•■- ^'^ T^earched, ^Iie adopts the 

' " - ■ t "■■■is' Since she recognizes 

-:-:■.-: 1 = --=-:> to having her vessels 

-:. _: - -- _ - T-jmed aside from their 

• --: T ■ -f.tT the blockade laid by 

~ "- : T'lkiied by England than 

-. ■:.-. - : equally suffer their 

- " - -""1 r. y France recognizes that 

. ..* ■-- r -:' national sovereignty; 

~ -■ * " ■ 'I- at.I :o declare them- 

. ■ - - -.--.-r ctA di-igrace their 

~: ::': • :" >e her ports caused 

• :• - r :. '. "'eyed Napoleon's 

• : -- t:i'--.rl nil Englishmen 

: " r: r J refused to con- 

• - -- fr> -r. P rtugal. This 

: ;■ -^i : ' refusincr to l^e- 
, . . , . . .. ^ .. ^ .. ^j .ntinue your 

':ei" rdered into the 

•:: «:' : J. :So7 ). *" I have 

-t ' ..- .:■• ".trstrindinir with Eng- 

'■'.-'-. :- • : s ::::ie t.* arrive from 

- ' ' t'* 


-;-..• ..♦ V ;,)iiif'' f. ,r the re--.:'.:- : -he invasion, he and 
'''■:• \\\:rj. '•! 'j'.iiii 'li-.i'lr-'l n].» P -rrugra: between them. If 
.•..-;-■ .':.■•;'. II V .1 jM«rji;iiiirc, !*■ )rtuj[^''al diil nothing to gainsay 

.-,, f.,r wln'ii liiii'.t .'irrivcd at Lislxai in December, he 

...1,1 tlu- ("niiir\ Willi. Mil a trnvernment, the royal family 

., . ,,1,.- jlfd III lii'dii i'» r»i;i/il. There was only one thing 

t,» be d«'nr. |iim«'| mn,! mi t'slal)lish himself as to h«>ld 

-, »nntrv a!:.M""' i'"" lnjdisli. who naturally would re- 

■ * J iiijiiM <1''"»' t''*'» '''^ iM''»ni St. Petersburg to 


But he was not satisfied. Spain was between him and 
Portugal. If he was going to rule Western Europe he 
ought to possess her. There is no space here to trace the 
intrigues with the weak and vicious factions of the Spanish 
court, which ended in Napoleon's persuading Charles IV. 
to cede his rights to the Spanish throne and to become his 
pensioner, and Ferdinand, the heir apparent, to abdicate; 
and which placed Joseph Bonaparte, King of Naples, on the 
Spanish throne, and put Murat, Charlotte Bonaparte's hus- 
band, in Joseph's place. 

From beginning to end the transfer of the Spanish crown 
from Bourbon to Bonaparte was dishonorable and unjustifi- 
able. It is true that the government of Spain w-as corrupt. 
No greater mismanagement could be conceived, no more 
scandalous court. Unquestionably the country would have 
been far better off under Napoleonic institutions. But to 
despoil Spain was to be false to an ally which had served 
him for years with fidelity, and at an awful cost to herself. 
It is true that her service had been through fear, not love. 
It is true that at one critical moment (when Napoleon was 
in Poland, in 1807) she had tried to escape; but, neverthe- 
less, it remained a fact that for France Spain had lost colo- 
nies, sacrificed men and money, and had seen her fleet go 
down at Trafalgar. In taking her throne. Napoleon had 
none of the excuses which had justified him in interfering in 
Italy, in Germany, in Holland, in Switzerland. This was 
not a conquest of war, not confiscation on account of the 
perfidy of an ally, not an attempt to answer the prayers of a 
people for a more liberal government. 

If Spain had submitted to the change, sh^ would have 
been purchasing good government at the price of national 
honor. But Spain did not submit. She, as well as all disin- 
terested lookers-on in Europe, was revolted by the baseness 
of the deed. No one has ever explained better the feeling 


which the intrigues over the Spanish throne caused than 
Napoleon himself : 

" I confess I embarked badly in the affair [he told Las Cases at St. 
Helena]. The immorality of it was too patent, the injustice far too 
cynical, and the whole thing too villainous; hence I failed. The 
attempt is seen now only in its hideous nudity, stripped of all that is 
grand, of all the numerous benefits which I intended. Posterity 
would have extolled it, however, if I had succeeded, and rightly, per- 
haps, because of its great and happy results." 

It was the Spanish people themselves, not the ruling 
house, who resented the transfer from Bourbon to Bona- 

No sooner was it noised through Spain that the Bourbons 
had really abdicated, and Joseph Bonaparte had been named 
king, than an insurrection was organized simultaneously all 
over the country. Some eighty-four thousand French troops 
were scattered througli tlie Peninsula, but they were power- 
less before the kind of warfare which now began. Every 
defile became a battle-ground, every rock hid a peasant, 
armed and waiting for French stragglers, messengers, supply 
parties. The remnant (^f the French fleets escaped from 
Trafalgar, and now at Cadiz, was forced to surrender. 
Twenty-five thousand French sokHers laid down their arms 
at Baylen, but the Spaniards refused to keep their capitula- 
tion treaties. Tlie prisoners were tortured by the peasants in 
the most barbarous fashion, crucified, burned, sawed 
asunder. Those who escaped the popular vengeance were 
sent to the Island of Cabrera, where they lived in the most 
abject fashion. It was only in 18 14 that the remnant of this 
army was released. King Joseph was obliged to flee to Vit- 
toria a week after he reached his capital. 

The misfortunes of Spain were followed by greater ones 
in Portugal. Junot was defeated by an English army at 
Vimeiro in August, 1808, and capitulated on condition that 
his army be taken back to France without being disarmed. 



NAPOLEON amazed at this unexpected popular up- 
rising in Spain, and angry that the spell of invinci- 
bility under which his armies had fought, was 
broken, resolved to undertake the Peninsular war himself. 
But before a campaign in Spain could be entered upon, it 
was necessary to know that all the inner and outer w^heels 
of the great machine he had devised for dividing the world 
and crushing England were revolving perfectly. 

Since the treaty of Tilsit he had done much at home for 
this machine. The finances were in splendid condition. 
Public works of great importance were going on all over 
the kingdom ; the court w^as luxurious and brilliant, and the 
money it scattered, encouraged the commercial and manu- 
facturing classes. Never had fetes been more brilliant than 
those which welcomed Napoleon back to Paris in 1807; 
never had the season at Fontainebleau been gayer or more 
magnificent than it was that year. 

All of those who had been instrumental in bringing pros- 
perity and order to France wxre rewarded in 1807 with 
splendid gifts from the indemnities levied on the enemies. 
The marshals of the Grand Army received from eighty 
thousand to two hundred thousand dollars apiece; twenty- 
five generals were given forty thousand dollars each; the 
civil functionaries were not forgotten; thus Monsieur de 
Seg^r received forty thousand dollars as a sign of the em- 



peror's gratification at the way he had administered etiquette 
in the young court. 

It was at this period that Napoleon founded a new nobility 
as a further means of rewarding those who had rendered 
brilliant services to France. This institution was designed, 
too, as a means of reconciling old and new France. It 
created the title, of prince, duke, count, baron, and knight ; 
and those receiving these titles were at the same time given 
domains in the conquered provinces, sufficient to permit 
them to establish themselves in good style. 

The drawing up of the rules which were to govern this 
new order occupied the gravest men of the country, Cam- 
baceres. Saint-Martin, Hauterive, Portalis, Pasquier. 
Among other duties they had to prepare the armorial bear- 
ings. Napoleon refused to allow the crown to go on the 
new escutcheons. He wished no one but himself to have 
a right to use that symbol. A substitute was found in the 
panache, the number of plumes showing the rank. 

Napoleon used the new favors at his command freely, 
creating in all, after 1807, forty-eight thousand knights, one 
thousand and ninety barons, three hundred and eighty-eight 
counts, thirty-one dukes, and three princes. All members 
of the old nobility who were sui)porting his government 
were given titles, but not those which they formerly held. 
Naturally this often led to great dissatisfaction, the bearers 
of ancient names preferring a lower rank which had been 
their family's for centuries to one higher, but unhallowed 
by time and tradition. Thus Madame de Montmorency re- 
belled obstinately against being made a countess, — she had 
been a baroness under the old regime, — and, as the Mont- 
morencys claimed the honor of being called the first Chris- 
tian barons, she felt justly that the old title was a far prouder 
one than any Napoleon could give her. But a countess she 
had to remain. 


In his efforts to win for himself the services of all those 
whom blood and fortune had made his natural supporters, 
the emperor tried again to reconcile Lucien. In November, 
1807, Napoleon visited Italy, and at Mantua a secret inter- 
view took place between the brothers. Lucien, in his '* Me- 
moirs," gives a dramatic description of the way in which 
Napoleon spread the kingdoms of half a world before him 
and offered him his choice. 

" He struck a great 'blow with his hand in the middle of the im- 
mense map of Europe which was extended on the table, by the side 
of which we were standing. * Yes, choose.* he said; "you see I am not 
talking in the air. All this is mine, or will soon belong to me; I can 
dispose of it already. Do you want Naples? I will take it from 
Joseph, who. by the by. does not care for it; he prefers Mortefontaine. 
Italy — the most beautiful jewel in my imperial crown? Eugene is but 
viceroy, and, far from despising it he hopes only that I shall give 
it to him. or. at least, leave it to him if he survives mc ; he is likely 
to be disappointed in waiting, for I shall live ninety years. I must, 
for the perfect consolidation of my empire. Besides, Eugene will not 
suit me in Italy after his mother is divorced. Spain? Do you not 
see it falling into the hollow of my hand, thanks to the blunders of my 
dear Brurbons, and to the follies of your friend, the Prince of Peace? 
Would you not be well pleased to reign there, where you have been 
only ambassador? Once for all, what do you want? Speak! Whatever 
you wish, or can wish, is yours if your divorce precedes mine.* ** 

Until midnight the two brothers wrestled with the ques- 
tion between them. Neither would abandon his position; 
and when Lucien finally went away, his face was wet with 
tears. To Meneval, who conducted him to his inn in the 
town, he said, in bidding him carry his farewell to the em- 
peror, " It may be forever.'' It was not. Seven years later 
the brothers met again, but the map of Europe was forever 
rolled up for Napoleon. 

The essential point in carrying out the Tilsit plan was, 
the fidelity of Alexander; and Napoleon resolved, before 
going into the Spanish war, to meet tlie Emperor of Russia. 


This was the more needful, because Austria had begun to 
show signs of hostility. 

The meeting took place in September, 1807, at Erfurt, in 
Saxony, and lasted a month. Napoleon acted as host, and 
prepared a splendid entertainment for his guests. The com- 
pany he had gathered was most brilliant. Beside the Rus- 
sian and French emperors, with ambassadors and suites, 
were the Kings of Saxony, Bavaria, and Wiirtemberg, the 
Prince Primate, the Grand Duke and Grand Duchess of 
Baden, the Dukes of Saxony, and the Princes of the Confed- 
eration of the Rhine. 

The palaces w^here the emperors were entertained, were 
furnished with articles from the Garde-Meuble of France. 
The leading actors of the Theatre Franqais gave the best 
French tragedies to a house where there w^as, as Napoleon 
had promised Talma, a ** parterre full of kings." There 
was a hare hunt on the battle-field of Jena, to which even 
Prince William of Prussia was invited, and where the party 
breakfasted on the spot where Napoleon had bivouacked in 
1806, the night before the battle. There were balls where 
Alexander danced, ** but not I," wrote the emperor to Jo- 
sephine; " forty years are forty years." Goethe and Wie- 
land were both presented to Napoleon at Erfurt, and the 
emperor had long conversations with them. 

In spite of these gayeties Napoleon and Alexander found 
time to renew their Tilsit agreement. They were to make 
war and peace together. Alexander was to uphold Napo- 
leon in giving Joseph the throne of Spain, and to keep 
the continent tranquil during the Peninsular war. Napo- 
leon was to support Alexander in getting possession of Fin- 
land, Moldavia, and Wallachia. The two emperors were to 
write and sign a letter inviting England to join them in peace 

This was done promptly ; but when England insisted that 

by rii^^inKcr, aficr Men'jclberii 


representatives of the government which was acting in 
Spain in the name of Ferdinand VII. should be admitted to 
the proposed meeting, the peace negotiations abruptly ended. 
Under the circumstances Napoleon could not recognize that 

The emperor w^as ready to conduct the Spanish war. His 
first move was to send into the country a large body of vet- 
erans from Germany. Before this time the army had been 
made up of young recruits upon whom the Spanish looked 
with contempt. The men, inexperienced and demoralized 
by the kind of guerrilla warfare which was waged against 
them, had become discouraged. The worst feature of their 
case was that they did not believe in the war. That brave 
story-teller Marbot relates frankly how he felt : 

" As a soldier I was bound to fight any one who attacked the French 
army, but I could not help recognizing in my inmost conscience that 
our cause was a bad one. and that the Spaniards were quite right in 
trying to drive out strangers who, after coming among them in the 
guise of friends, were wishing to dethrone their sovereign and take 
forcible possession of the kingdom. This war, therefore, seemed to 
me wicked; but I was a soldier, and I must march or be charged with 
cowardice. The greater part of the army thought as I did, and. like me, 
obeyed orders all the same.*' 

The appearance of the veterans and the presence of the 
emperor at once put a new face on the war ; the morale of the 
army was raised, and the respect of the Spaniards inspired. 

The emperor speedily made his way to Madrid, though he 
had to fight three battles to get there, and began at once a 
work of reorganization. Decree followed decree. Feudal 
rights were abolished, the inquisition was ended, the number 
of convents was reduced, the custom-houses between the 
various provinces were done away with, a political and mili- 
tary programme was made out for King Joseph. Many 
bulletins were sent to the Spanish people. In all of them 
they were told that it was the English w^ho were their ene- 


mies, not their allies ; that they came to the Peninsular not to 
help, but to inspire to false confidence, and to lead them 
astray. Napoleon's plan and purpose could not be mistaken. 

** Spaniards [he proclaimed at Madrid], your destinies are in my 
hands. Reject the poison which the English have spread among you; 
let your king be certain of your love and your confidence, and you 
will be more powerful and happier than ever. I have destroyed all 
that was opposed to your prosperity and greatness; I have broken 
the fetters which weighed upon the people; a liberal constitution gives 
you. instead of an absolute, a tempered and constitutional monarchy. It 
depends upon you that this constitution shall become law. But if 
all my efforts prove useless, and if you do not respond to my con- 
fidence, it will only remain for me to treat you as conquered provinces, 
and to find my brother another throne. I shall then place the crown of 
Spain on my own head, and I shall know how to make the wicked 
tremble; for God has given me the power and the will necessary to 
surmount all obstacles." 

But a flame had been kindled in Spain which no number 
of Napoleonic bulletins could quench — a fanatical frenzy in- 
spired by the priests, a blind passion of patriotism. The 
Spaniards wanted their own, even if it was feudal and 
oppressive. A constitution which they had been forced to 
accept, seemed to them odious and shameful, if liberal. 

The obstinacy and horror of their resistance w-as nowhere 
so tragic and so heroic as at the siege of Saragossa, going 
on at the time Napoleon, at Madrid, was issuing his decrees 
and proclamations. Saragossa had been fortified when the 
insurrection against King Joseph broke out. The town was 
surrounded by convents, which were turned into forts. Men, 
w'omen, and children took up arms, and the priests, cross in 
hand, and dagger at the belt, led them. No word of sur- 
render was tolerated within the walls. At the beginning 
Napoleon regarded the defence of Saragossa as a small 
affair, and wished to try persuasion on the people. There 
was at Paris a w^ell-known Aragon noble whom he urged to 
go to Saragosa and calm the popular excitement. The man 


accepted the mission. When he arrived in the town the 
people hurried forth to meet him, supposing he had come 
to aid in the resistance. At the first word of submission he 
spoke he was assailed by the mob, and for nearly a year lay 
in a dungeon. 

The peasants of the vicinity of Saragossa were quartered 
in the town, each family being given a house to defend. 
Nothing could drive them from their posts. They took an 
oath to resist until death, and regarded the probable destruc- 
tion of themselves and their families with stoical indiffer- 
ence. The priests had so aroused their religious exultation, 
and were able to sustain it at such a pitch, that they never 
wavered before the daily horrors they endured. 

The French at first tried to drive them from their posts 
by sallies made into the town, but the inhabitants rained 
such a murderous fire upon them from towers, roofs, win- 
dows, even the cellars, that they were obliged to retire. Ex- 
asperated by this stubborn resistance they resolved to blow 
up the town, inch by inch. The siege was begun in the most 
terrible and destructive manner, but the people were un- 
moved by the danger. ** While a house was being mined, 
and the dull sound of the rammers warned them that death 
was at hand, not one left the house which he had sworn to 
defend, and we could hear them singing litanies. Then, at 
the moment the walls flew into the air and fell back with a 
crash, crushing the greater part of them, those who had es- 
caped would collect about the ruins, and sheltering them- 
selves behind the slightest cover, would recommence their 

Marshal Lannes commanded before Saragossa. Touched 
by the devotion and the heroism of the defenders, he pro- 
posed an honorable capitulation. The besieged scorned the 
proposition, and the awful process of undermining went on 
until the town was practically blown to pieces. 


For such resistance there was no end but extermination. 
For the first tini6 in his career Napoleon had met sublime 
popular patriotism, a passion before which diplomacy, flat- 
tery, love of gain, force, lose their power. 

It was for but a short time that the emperor could give 
his personal attention to the Spanish war. Certain wheels 
in his great machine were not revolving smoothly. In his 
own capital, Paris, there was friction among certain influen- 
tial persons. The peace of the Continent, necessary to the 
Peninsular war, and which Alexander had guaranteed, was 
threatened. Under these circumstances it was impossible 
to remain in Spain. 

Talleyrand's treachery — the campaign of 1809 — 


Two unscrupulous and crafty men, both of singular 
ability, caused the interior trouble which called Na- 
poleon from Spain. These men were Talleyrand 
and Fouche. The latter we saw during the Consulate as 
Minister of Police. Since, he had been once dismissed be- 
cause of his knavery, and restored, largely for the same 
quality. His cunning was too valuable to dispense with. 
The former, Talleyrand, made Minister of Foreign Aflfairs 
in 1799, had handled his negotiations with the extraordinary 
skill for which he was famous, until, in 1807, Napoleon's 
mistrust of his duplicity, and Talleyrand's own dislike for the 
details of his position, led to the portfolio being taken from 
him, and he being made Vice-Grand- Elector. He evidently 
expected, in accepting this change, to remain as influential as 
ever with Napoleon. The knowledge that the emperor was 
dispensing with his services made him resentful, and his de- 
votion to the imperial cause fluctuated according to the at- 
tention he received. 

Ncnv, Napoleon's course in Spain had been undertaken at 
the advice of Talleyrand, largely, and he had repeated con- 
stantly, in the early negotiations, that France ought not to 
allow a Bourbon to remain enthroned at her borders. Yet, 
as the affair went on, he began slyly to talk against the enter- 
prise. At Erfurt, where Napoleon had been impolitic 
enough to take him, he initiated himself into Alexander's 



good graces, and prevented Napoleon's policy towards Aus- 
tria being carried out. When Napoleon returned to Spain, 
Talleyrand and Fouche, who up to this time had been ene- 
mies, became friendly, and even appeared in public, arm in 
arm. If Talleyrand and Fouche had made up, said the Par- 
isians, there was mischief brewing. 

Napoleon was not long in knowing of their reconciliation. 
He learned more, that the two crafty plotters had written 
Murat that in the event of ** something happening," that is, 
of Napoleon's death or overthrow, they should organize a 
movement to call him to the head of affairs : that, accord- 
ingly, he must hold himself ready. 

Napoleon returned to Paris immediately, removed Talley- 
rand from his position at court, and, at a gathering of high 
officials, treated him to one of those violent harangues with 
which he was accustomed to flay those whom he would dis- 
grace and dismiss. 

** You are a thief, a coward, a man withoui honor ; you do not 
believe in God; you have all your life been a traitor to your duties; 
you have deceived and betrayed everybody ; nothing is sacred to you ; you 
would sell your own father. I have loaded you down with gifts, and 
there is nothing you would not undertake against me. For the past 
ten months you have been shameless enough, because you supposed, 
rightly or wrongly, that my affairs in Spain were going astray, to say 
to ail who would listen to you that you always blamed my under- 
takings there; whereas it was you yourself who first put it into my 
head, and who persistently urged it. And that man, that unfortunate 
[he meant the Due d'Enghien], by whom was I advised of the place 
of his residence? Who drove me to deal cruelly with him? What, 
then, are you aiming at? What do you wish for? What do you hope? 
Do you dare to say? You deserve that I should smash you like a wine- 
glass. I can do it. but I despise you too much to take the trouble." 

All of this was undoubtedly true, but, after having pub- 
licly said it, there was but one safe course for Napoleon — to 
put Talleyrand where he could no h^iger continue his plot- 
ting. He made the mistake, how-ever, of leaving him at 


The disturbance of the Continental peace came from Aus- 
tria. Encouraged by Napoleon's absence in Spain, and the 
withdrawal of troops from Germany, and urged by Eng- 
land to attempt to again repair her losses, Austria had hastily 
armed herself, hoping to be able to reach the Rhine be- 
fore Napoleon could collect his forces and meet her. At 
this moment Napoleon could command about the same 
number of troops as the Austrians, but they were scat- 
tered in all directions, while the enemy's were already 
consolidated. The question became, then, whether he could 
get his troops together before the Austrians attacked. From 
everv direction he hurried them across France and Germany 
towards Ratisbonne. On the 12th of April he heard in Paris 
that the Austrians had crossed the Inn. On the 17th the 
emperor was in his headquarters at Donauworth, his army 
well in hand. " Neither in ancient or modern times,*' says 
Jomini, ** will one find anything which equals in celerity and 
admirable precision the opening of this campaign." 

In the next ten days a series of combats broke the Austrian 
army, drove the Archduke Charles, with his main force, 
north of the Danube, and opened the road to Vienna to the 
French. On the 12th of May, one month from the day he 
left Paris, Napoleon wrote from Schonbrunn, ** We are 
masters of Vienna." The city had been evacuated. 

Napoleon lay on the right bank of the Danube ; the Aus- 
trian army under the Archduke Charles was coming to- 
wards the city by the left bank ; it was to be a hand-to-hand 
struggle under the vValls of Vienna. The emperor was un- 
certain of the archduke's plans, but he was determined that 
he should not have a chance to reenforce his armv. The 
battle must be fought at once, and he prepared to go across 
the river to attack him. The place of crossing he chose was 
south of Vienna, where the large island Lobau divides the 
stream. Bridges had to built for the passage, and it was 



with the greatest difficulty that the work was accompHshed, 
for the river was high and the current swift, and anchors 
and boats were scarce. Again and again the boats broke 
apart. Nevertheless, about thirty thousand of the French 
got over, and took possession of the villages of Aspern and 
Essling, where they were attacked on May 21st by some 
eighty thousand Austrians. 

The battle which followed lasted all day, and the French 
sustained themselves heroically. That night reenforce- 
ments were gotten over, so that the next day some fifty-five 
thousand men were on the French side. Napoleon fought 
with the greatest obstinacy, hoping that another division 
would soon succeed in getting over, and would enable him 
to overcome the superior numbers of the Austrians. Al- 
ready the battle was becoming a hand-to-hand fight, wdien 
the terrible news came that the bridge over the Danube had 
gone down. The Austrians had sent floating down the 
swollen river great mills, fire-lx>ats, and masses of timl^er 
fastened together in such a way as to become battering- 
rams of frightful power when carried by the rapid stream. 
All hope of aid was gone, and, as the news spread, the 
army resigned itself to perish sword in hand. The car- 
nage which followed was horrible. Towards evening one 
of the bravest of the French marshals, Lannes, was fatally 
wounded. It seemed as if fortune had determined on the 
loss of the French, and Napoleon decided to retreat to 
the island of Lobau, where he felt sure that he could main- 
tain his position, and secure supplies from the army on the 
right bank, until he had time to build bridges and unite his 

Communications were soon established with the right 
bank, but the isle of Lobau was not deserted ; it was used, 
in fact, as a camp for the next few weeks, while Na- 
poleon was sending to Italy, to France, and to Germany, for 


new troops. A heavy reenforcement came to him from 
Italy with news which did much to encourage him. When 
the war began, an Austrian army had invaded Italy, and 
at first had success in its engagements against the French 
under the Viceroy of Italy, Eugene de Beauharnais. The 
news of the ill-luck of the Austrians at home, and of the 
march on Vienna, had discouraged the leader. Archduke 
John, brother of Archduke Charles, and he had retreated, 
Eugene following. Such were the successes of the French 
on this retreat, that the Austrians finally retired out of their 
way, leaving them a free route to Vienna, and Eugene soon 
united his army to that of the emperor. 

With the greatest rapidity the French now secured and 
strengthened their communications with Italy and with 
France, and gathered troops about Vienna. The whole 
month of June was passed in this w-ay, hostile Europe re- 
peating the while that Napoleon was shut in by the Aus- 
trians and could not move, and that he w^as idling his time 
in luxury at the castle of Schonbrunn, where he had estab- 
lished his headquarters. But this month of apparent in- 
activity was only a feint. By the ist of July the French 
Army had reached one hundred and fifty thousand men. 
They were in admirable condition, well drilled, fresh, and 
confident. Their communications were strong, their camps 
good, and they were eager for battle. 

The Austrians were encamped at Wagram, to the north 
of the Danube. They had fortified the banks opposite the 
island of Lobau in a manner which they believed would pre- 
vent the French from attempting a passage ; but in arrang- 
ing their fortification they had completely neglected a certain 
portion of the bank on which Napoleon seemed to have no 
designs. But this was the point, naturally, which Napoleon 
chose for his passage, and on the night of July 4th he 
eflfected it. On the morning of the 5th his whole army of 


one hundred and fifty thousand men, with four hundred 
batteries, was on the left bank. In the midst of a terrible 
storm this great mass of men, with all its equipments, had 
crossed the main Danube, several islands and channels, had 
built six bridges, and by daybreak had arranged itself in 
order. It was an unheard-of feat. 

Pushing his corps forward, and easily sweeping out of 
his way the advance posts, Napoleon soon had his line 
facing that of the Austrians, which stretched from near the 
Danube to a point east of Wagram. At seven o'clock on the 
evening of July 5th the French attacked the left and centre 
of the enemy, but without driving them from their position. 
The next morning it was the Archduke Charles who took 
the offensive, making a movement which changed the whole 
battle. He attacked the French left, which was nearest 
the river, with fifty thousand men, intending to get on their 
line of communication and destroy the bridges across the 
Danube. The troops on the French centre were obliged to 
hurry off to prevent this, and the army was weakened for 
a moment, but not long. Napoleon determined to make the 
Archduke Charles, who in person commanded this attack 
on the French left, return, not by following him, but by 
breaking his centre; and he turned his heavy batteries 
against this portion of the army, and followed them by a 
cavalry attack, which routed the enemy. At the same time 
their left was broken, and the troops which had been en- 
gaging it were free to hurry off against the Austrian right, 
which was trying to reach the bridges, and which were be- 
ing held in check with difficulty at Essling. As soon as the 
archduke saw what had happened to his left and centre he 
retired, preferring to preserve as much as possible of his 
army in good order. The French did not pursue. The battle 
had cost them too heavily. But if the Austrians escaped 
from Wagram with their army, and if their opponents 


Ihrane. he 

'ndcd Ihe 

c did nol 


gained little more than the name of a victory, they were too 
discouraged to continue the war, and the emperor sued for 

This peace was concluded in October. Austria was 
forced to give up Trieste and all her Adriatic possessions, 
to cede territory to Bavaria and to the Grand Duchy of 
Warsaw, and to give her consent to the continental system. 



TO further the universal peace he desired, to prevent 
plots among his subordinates who would aspire to 
his crown in case of his sudden death, and to assure 
a succession. Napoleon now decided to take a step long in 
mind — to divorce Josephine, by whom he no longer hoped 
to have heirs. 

In considering Napoleon's divorce of Josephine, it must 
be remembered that stability of government was of vital 
necessity to the permanency of the Napoleonic institutions. 
Napoleon had turned into practical realities most of the re- 
forms demanded in 1789. True, he had done it by the exer- 
cise of desi)otism, but nothing but the courage, the will, the 
audacity of a despot could have aroused the nation in 1799. 
Napoleon felt that these institutions had been so short a time 
in operation that in case of his death they would easily topple 
over, and his kingdom go to pieces as Alexander's had. If 
he could leave an heir, this disaster would, he believed, be 

Then, would not a marriage with a foreign princess calm 
the fears of his Continental enemies? Would thev not see 
in such an alliance an effort on the part of new, liberal 
France to adjust herself harmoniously to the system of gov- 
ernment which prevailed on the Continent? 

Thus, by a new marriage, he hoped to prevent at his 
death a series of fresh revolutions, save the splendid organi- 
zation he had created, and put France in greater harmony 



with her environment. It is to misunderstand Napoleon's 
scheme, to attribute this divorce simply to a gigantic ego- 
tism. To assure his dynasty, was to assure France of liberal 
institutions. His glorification was his country's. In reality 
there were the same reasons for divorcing Josephine that 
there had been for taking the crown in 1804. 

Josephine had long feared a separation. The Bonapartes 
had never cared for her, and even so far back as the Egyptian 
campaign had urged Nai)oleon to seek a divorce. Unwisely, 
she had not sought in her early married life to win their 
affection any more than she had to keep Napoleon's; and 
when the emperor was crowned, they had done their best 
to prevent her coronation. W'^hen, for state reasons, the 
divorce seemed necessary, Josephine had no supporters 
where she might have had many. 

Her grief was more poignant because she had come to 
love her husband with a real ardor. The jealousy from 
which he had once suffered she now felt, and Napoleon 
certainly gave her ample cause for it. Her anxiety was well 
known to all the court, the secretaries Bourrienne and Me- 
neval, and Madame de Remusat being her special confi- 
dants. Since 1807 it had been intense, for it was in that 
year that Fouche, probably at Napoleon*s instigation, tried 
to persuade the empress to suggest the divorce herself as her 
sacrifice to the country. 

After Wagram it became evident to her that at last her 
fate was sealed ; but though she beset Meneval and all the 
members of her household for information, it was only a 
fortnight before the public divorce that she knew her fate. 
It was Josephine's own son and daughter, Eugene and Hor- 
tense, who broke the news to her ; and it was on the former 
that the cruel task fell of indorsing the divorce in the Sen- 
ate in the name of himself and his sister. 

Josephine was terribly broken by her disgrace, but she 


bore it with a sweetness and dignity which does much to 
make posterity forget her earlier frivolity and insincerity. 

** I can never forget [says Pasquier] the evening on which the dis- 
carded empress did the honors of her court for the last time. It 
was the day before the official dissolution. A great throng was 
present, and supper was served, according to custom, in the gallery 
of Diana, on a number of little tables. Josephine sat at the centre one. 
and the men went around her, waiting for that particularly graceful 
nod which she was in the habit of bestowing on those with whom 
she was acquainted. I stood at a short distance from her for a few 
minutes, and I could not help being struck with the perfection of her 
attitude in the presence of all these people who still did her homage, 
while knowing full well that it was for the last time; that in an 
bour she would descend from the throne, and leave the palace never to 
reenter it. Only women can rise superior to such a situation, but 
I have my doubts as to whether a second one could have been 
found to do it with such perfect grace and composure. Napoleon did 
not show so bold a front as did his victim." 

There is no doubt but that Napoleon suffered deeply over 
the separation. If his love had lost its illusion, he was 
genuinely attached to Josephine, and in a w^ay she was neces- 
sary to his happiness. After the ceremony of separation, 
he was to go to Saint Cloud, she to Malmaison. While 
waiting for his carriage, he returned to his study in the 
palace. For a long time he sat silent and depressed, his 
head on his hand. When he was summoned he rose, his 
face distorted w^ith pain, and went into the empress's apart- 
ment. Josephine was alone. 

^Vhen she saw the emperor, she threw herself on his neck, 
sobbing aloud. He pressed her to his bosom, kissed her 
again and again, until overpowered with emotion, she 
fainted. Leaving her to her women, he hurried to his car- 

Meneval, who saw this sad parting, remained with 
Josephine until she became conscious. When he left, she 
begged him not to let the emperor forget her, and to see that 
he wrote her often. 

Engtsved in 1B41 hj Louit. attcr ■ painlins made in itj? br E 

i called the " SnnfF-tox." Pnbabljt ib* t 
a Napideon portrait. 


" I left her," that naive admirer and apologist of Na- 
poleon goes on, ** grieved at so deep a sorrow and so sincere 
an affection. I felt very miserable all along my route, and 
1 could not help deploring that the rigorous exactions of 
politics should violently break the bonds of an affection 
which had stood the test of time, to impose another union 
full of uncertaintv." 

Josephine returned to Malmaison to live, but Napoleon 
took care that she should have, in addition, another home, 
giving her Navarre, a chateau near Evreux, some fifty 
miles from Paris. She had an income of some four hundred 
thousand dollars a year, and the emperor showed rare 
thoughtfulness in providing her with everything she could 
want. She was to deny herself nothing, take care of her 
health, pay no attention to the gossip she heard, and never 
doubt of his love. Such were the recommendations of the 
frequent letters he wrote her. Sometimes he went to see 
her, and he told her all the details of his life. It is certain 
that he neglected no opportunity of comforting her, and that 
she, on her side, finally accepted her lot with resignation and 

Over two years before the divorce a list of the marriage- 
able princesses of Europe had been drawn up for Napoleon. 
This list included eighteen names in all, the two most promi- 
nent being Marie Louise of Austria, and Anna Paulowna, 
sister of Alexander of Russia. At the Erfurt conference 
the project of a marriage with a Russian princess had been 
discussed, and Alexander had favored it; but now that an 
attempt was made to negotiate the affair, there were nu- 
merous delays, and a general lukewarmness which angered 
Napoleon. Without waiting for the completion of the Rus- 
sian negotiations, he decided on Marie Louise. 

The marriage ceremony was performed in Vienna on 
March 12, 18 10, the Archduke Charles acting for Napoleon. 


The emperor first saw his new wife some days later on the 
road between Soissons and Compiegne, where he had gone 
to meet her in most unimperial haste, and in contradiction 
to the pompous and compHcated ceremony which had been 
arranged for their first interview. From the beginning he 
was frankly delighted with Marie Louise. In fact, the new 
empress was a most attractive girl, young, fresh, modest 
well-bred, and innocent. She entirely filled Napoleon's ideal 
of a wife, and he certainly was happy with her. 

Marie Louise in marrying Napoleon had felt that she 
was a kind of sacrificial offering, for she had naturally a 
deep horror of the man who had caused her country so 
much w^oe; but her dread was soon dispelled, and she be- 
came very fond of her husband. Outside of the court the 
two led an amusingly simple life, riding together inform- 
ally early in the morning, in a gay Bohemian way; sitting 
together alone in the empress's little salon, she at her needle- 
work, he with a book. They .even indulged now and then in 
quiet little larks of their own, as one day when Marie Louise 
attempted to make an omelet in her apartments. Just as she 
was completely engrossed in her work, the emperor came in. 
The empress tried to conceal her culinary operations, but 
Napoleon detected the odor. 

** What is going on here? There is a singular smell, 
as if something was being fried. What, you are making an 
omelet ! Bah ! vou don't know how to do it. I will show 
you how it is done." 

And he set to work to instruct her. They got on very 
well until it came to tossing it, an operation Napoleon in- 
sisted on performing himself, with the result that he landed 
it on the floor. 

On March 20, 181 1, the long-desired heir to the French 
throne was born. It had been arranged that the birth of the 
child should be announced to the people by cannon shot; 


twenty-one if it were a princess, one hundred and one if 
a prince. The people who thronged the quays and streets 
about the Tuileries waited with inexpressible anxiety as the 
cannon boomed forth; one — two — three. As twenty-one 
died away the city held its breath; then came twenty-two. 
the thundering peals which followed it were drowned in the 
wild enthusiasm of the people. For days afterward, ener- 
vated by joy and the endless fcfcs given them, the French 
drank and sang to the King of Rome. 

In all these rejoicings none were so touching as at Na- 
varre, where Josephine, on hearing the cannon, called to- 
gether her friends and said, ** We, too, must have a fete, 
I shall give you a ball, and the whole city of Evreux must 
come and rejoice with us." 

Napoleon w^as the happiest of men, and he devoted himself 
to his son with pride. Reports of the boy's condition appear 
frequently in his letters; he even allowed him to be taken 
without the empress's knowledge to Josephine, who had 
begged to see him. 




HIS child in concert with our Eugene will constitute 
our happiness and that of France/' so Napoleon 
had written Josephine after the birth of the King 
of Rome, but it soon became evident that he was wrong. 
There were causes of uneasiness and discontent in France 
which had been operating for a long time, and which were 
only aggravated by the apparent solidity that an heir gave 
to the Napoleonic dynasty. 

First among these was religious disaffection. Towards 
the end of 1808, being doubtful of the Pope's loyalty, Na- 
poleon had sent French troops to Rome: the spring follow- 
ing, without any plausible excuse, he had annexed four 
Papal States to the kingdom of Italy; and in 1809 the Pope 
had been made a prisoner at Savona. When the divorce 
was asked, it was not the Pope, but the clergy, of Paris, 
who had granted it. When the religious marriage of Marie 
Louise and Napoleon came to be celebrated, thirteen cardi- 
nals refused to appear; the ** black cardinals" they were 
thereafter called, one of their punishments for non-appear- 
ance at the wedding being that they could no longer wear 
their red gowns. To the pious all this friction with the 
fathers of the Church was a deplorable irritation. It was 
impossible to show contempt for the authority of Pope and 
cardinals and not wound one of the deepest sentiments of 
France, and one which ten years before Napoleon had braved 
most to satisfv. 






Engrave-I by Robinnm. af»-. ^ ,.=iT,i.„K 

niadi: in i8j6 by \\ilkit 


To the irritation against the emperor's church policy was 
added bitter resentment against the conscription, that tax 
of blood and muscle, demanded of the country. Napoleon 
had formulated and attempted to make tolerable the prin- 
ciple born of the Revolution, which declared that every male 
citizen of age owed the state a service of blood in case it 
needed him. The wisdom of his management of the con- 
scription had prevented discontent until 1807; then the draft 
on life had begun to be arbitrary and grievous. The laws 
of exemptions were disregarded. The " only son of 
his mother '' no longer remained at her side. The father 
whose little children were motherless must leave them; 
aged and helpless parents no longer gave immunity. 
Those who had bought their exemption by heavy sacrifices 
were obliged to go. Persons whom the law made subject 
to conscription in 1807, were called out in 1806; those of 
1808, in 1807. So far was this premature drafting pushed, 
that the armies were said to be made up of *' boy soldiers," 
weak, unformed youths, fresh from school, who wilted in a 
sun like that of Spain, and dropped out in the march. 

At the rate at which men had been killed, however, there 
was no other way of keeping up the army. Between 1804 
and 181 1 one million seven hundred thousand men had 
perished in battle. What wonder that now the boys of 
France were pressed into service! At the same time the 
country was overrun with the lame, the blind, the broken- 
down, who had come back from war to live on their friends 
or on charity. It was not only the funeral crape on almost 
every door which made Frenchmen hate the conscription, it 
was the crippled men whom they met at every corner. 

While within, the people fretted over the religious dis- 
turbances and the abuses of the conscription, without, the 
continental blockade was causing serious trouble between 
Napoleon and the kings he ruled. In spite of all his eflforts 


English merchandise penetrated everywhere. The fair at 
Rotterdam in 1807 was filled with English goods. They 
passed into Italy under false seals. They came into France 
on pretence that they were for the empress. Napoleon re- 
monstrated and threatened, but he could not check the 
traffic. The most serious trouble caused by this violation 
of the Berlin Decree was with Louis, King of Holland. 
In 1808 Napoleon complained to his brother that more than 
one hundred ships passed between his kingdom and England 
every month, and a year later he wrote in desperation, 
" Holland is an English province.'' 

The relations of the brothers grew more and more bitter. 
Napoleon resented the half support Louis gave him, and as 
a punishment he took away his provinces, filled his forts 
with French troops, threatened him with war if he did not 
break up the trade. So far did these hostilities go, that 
in the summer of 18 10 King Louis abdicated in favor of his 
son and retired to Austria. Napoleon tried his best to per- 
suade him at least to return into French territory, but he 
refused. This break was the sadder because Louis was the 
brother for whom Napoleon had really done most. 

Joseph was not happier than Louis. The Spanish war 
still w^ent on, and no better than in 1808. Joseph, hum- 
bled and unhappy, had even prayed to be freed of the throne. 

The relations with Sweden were seriously strained. Since 
18 10 Bernadotte had been by adoption the crown prince of 
that country. Although he had emphatically refused, in 
accepting the position, to agree never to take up arms against 
France, as Napoleon w-ished him to do, he had later con- 
sented to the continental blockade, and had declared war 
against England; but this declaration both England and 
Sweden considered simply as a fagon de parler. Napoleon, 
conscious that Bernadotte was not carrying out the blockade, 
and irritated by his persistent refusal to enter into French 

by Weber, ifier Steub* 

Sli." Engraved 


combinations, and pay tribute to carry on French wars, had 
suppressed his revenues as a French prince — Bernadotte had 
been created Prince of Ponte-Corvo in 1806 — had refused 
to communicate with him, and when the King of Rome was 
born had sent back the Swedish decoration offered. Finally, 
in January, 181 2, French troops invaded certain Swedish 
possessions, and the country concluded an alliance with 
England and Russia. 

With Russia,, the ** other half" of the machine, the ally 
upon whom the great plan of Tilsit and Erfurt depended, 
there was such a bad state of feeling that, in 181 1, it became 
certain that war would result. Causes had been accumu- 
lating upon each side since the Erfurt meeting. 

The continental system weighed heavily on the interests 
of Russia. The people constantly rel)elled against it and 
evaded it in every way. The business depressions from 
which they suffered they charged to Napoleon, and a strong 
party arose in the empire which used every method of 
showing the czar that the " unnatural alliance," as they called 
the agreement between Alexander and Napoleon, was un- 
popular. The czar could not refuse to listen to this party. 
More, he feared that Napoleon was getting ready to restore 
Poland. He was offended by the haste with which his ally 
had dismissed the idea of marriage with his sister and had 
taken up Marie Louise. He complained of the changes of 
boundaries in Germany. Napoleon, on his part, saw with 
irritation that English goods were admitted into Russia. He 
resented the failure of Alexander to join heartily in the wide- 
sweeping application he had made of the Berlin and Milan 
Decrees, and to persecute neutral flags of all nations, even of 
those so far away from the Continent as the United States. 
He remembered that Russia had not supported him loyally 
in 1809. He was suspicious, too, of the good understand- 

Engraved ty W, Bromkr. aficr Sir Thomai La* 


ing which seemed to be growing between Sweden, Russia, 
and England. 

During many months the two emperors remained in a 
half -hostile condition, but the strain finally became too great. 
War was inevitable, and Napoleon set about preparing for 
the struggle. During the latter months of 181 1 and the 
first of 181 2 his attention was given almost entirely to the 
military and diplomatic preparations necessary before be- 
ginning the Russian campaign. By the ist of May, 18 12, 
he was ready to join his army, which he had centred at 
Dresden. Accompanied by Marie Louise he arrived at 
Dresden on the i6th of May, 18 12, where he was greeted 
by the Emperor of Austria, the King of Prussia, and other 
sovereigns with whom he had formed alliances. 

The force Napoleon had brought to the field showed 
graphically the extension and the character of the France 
of 1812. The ** army of twenty nations,'' the Russians 
called the host which was preparing to meet them, and the 
expression was just, for in the ranks there were Spaniards, 
Neapolitans, Piedmontese, Slavs, Kroats, Bavarians, Dutch- 
men, Poles, Romans, and a dozen other nationalities, side 
by side with Frenchmen. Indeed, nearly one-half the force 
was said to be foreign. The Grand Army, as the active body 
was called, numbered, to quote the popular figures, six hun- 
dred and seventy-eight thousand men. It is sure that this is 
an exaggerated number, though certainly over half a mil- 
lion men entered Russia. With reserves, the whole force 
numbered one million one hundred thousand. The neces- 
sity for so large a body of reserves is explained by the length 
of the line of communication Napoleon had to keep. From 
the Nieman to Paris the way must be open, supply stations 
guarded, fortified towns equipped. It took nearly as many 
men to insure the rear of the Grand Army as it did to make 
up the army itself. 

PiinlinK by Lawrence. Cotlecljon of the Due de Basuno. Thii poHi 
Napoleon II, i< an exquisite work of ait. a bright and freab color-hai 
Lawrence muK have eiecuted this porlrail while Iravelline in Europe, w 

a yeai. to paint for the Rreat Windsor gallery the portraiti ol all 
■■ du grand Imiard de lValerli?o."—A. D. 


With this imposing force at his command, Napoleon 
believed that he could compel Alexander to suppport the 
continental blockade, for come what might that system 
must succeed. For it the reigning house had been driven 
from Portugal, the Pope despoiled and imprisoned, Louis 
gone into exile, Bernadotte driven into a new alliance. For 
it the Grand Army was led into Russia. It had become, 
as its inventor proclaimed, the fundamental law of the em- 

Until he crossed the Nieman, Napoleon preserved the 
hope of being able to avoid war. Numerous letters to the 
Russian emperor, almost pathetic in their overtures, exist. 
But Alexander never replied. He simply allowed his enemy 
to advance. The Grand Army was doomed to make the 
Russian campaign. 

By Girodcl. From the collection of Motuieui Ctaeramy □[ Paris. 




IF one draws a triangle, its base stretching along the Nie- 
man from Tilsit to Grodno, its apex on the Elbe, he will 
have a rough outline of the ** army of twenty nations " 
as it lay in June, 1812. Napoleon, some two hundred and 
twenty-five thousand men around him, was at Kowno, hesi- 
tating to advance, reluctant to believe that Alexander would 
not make peace. 

When he finally moved, it was not with the precision and 
swiftness which had characterized his former campaigns. 
When he began to fight, it was against new odds. He found 
that his enemies had been studying the Spanish campaigns, 
and that they had adopted the tactics which had so nearly 
ruined his armies in the Peninsula: they refused to give 
him a general battle retreating constantly before him; 
they harassed his separate corps with indecisive contests; 
they wasted the country as they went. The people aided 
their soldiers as the Spaniards had done. ** Tell us only the 
moment, and we will set fire to our buildings,'' said the 

By the 12th of August, Napoleon was at Smolensk, the 
key of Moscow. At a cost of twelve thousand men killed 
and wounded, he took the town, only to find, instead of the 
well-victualled shelter he hoped, a smoking ruin. The 
French army had suffered frightfully from sickness, from 
scarcity of supplies, and from useless fighting on the march 


EnRTivrJ hx TardLeu. afler 


from the Nieman to Smolensk. They had not had the stim- 
ulus of a great victory; they began to feel that this steady 
retreat of the enemy was only a fatal trap into which they 
were falling. Every consideration forbade them to march 
into Russia so late in the year, yet on they went towards 
Moscow, over ruined fields and through empty villages. 
This terrible pursuit lasted until September 7th, when the 
Russians, to content their soldiers, who were complaining 
loudly because they were not allowed to engage the French, 
gave battle at Borodino, the battle of the Moskova, as the 
French call it. 

At two o'clock in the morning of this engagement, Na- 
poleon issued one of his stirring bulletins: 

" Soldiers ! Here is the battle which you have so long desired ! 
Henceforth the victory depends upon you ; it is necessary for us. It will 
give you abundance, good winter quarters, and a speedy return to 
your country ! Behave as you did at Austerlitz. at Friedland, at Vitebsk, 
at Smolensk, and the most remote posterity will quote with pride your 
conduct on this day : let it say of you : he was at the great battle under 
the walls of Moscow/' 

The French gained the battle at Borodino, at a cost of 
some thirty thousand men, but they did not destroy the Rus- 
sian army. Although the Russians lost fifty thousand men, 
they retreated in good order. Under the circumstances, a 
victory which allowed the enemy to retire in order was of 
little use. It was Napoleon's fault, the critics said : he was 
inactive. But it was not sluggishness which troubled Na- 
poleon at Borodino. He had a new enemy — a headache. 
On the day of the battle he suffered so that he was obliged 
to retire to a ravine to escape the icy wind. In this sheltered 
spot he paced up and down all day, giving his orders from 
the reports brought him. 

Moscow was entered on the 15th of September. Here the 
French found at last food and shelter, but only for a few 


hours. That night Moscow burst into flames, set on fire 
by the authorities, by whom it had been abandoned. It was 
three days before the fire was arrested. It would cost Rus- 
sia two hundred years of time, two hundred milHons of 
money, to repair the loss which she had sustained. Napoleon 
wrote to France. 

Suffering, disorganization, pillage, followed the disaster. 
But Napoleon would not retreat. He hoped to make peace. 
Moscow was still smoking when he wrote a long description 
of the conflagration to Alexander. The closing paragraph 

" I wage war against your Majesty without animosity ; a note from 
you before or after the last battle would have stopped my march, and 
I should even have liked to sacrifice the advantage of entering 
Moscow. If your Majesty retains some remains of your former senti- 
ments, you will take this letter in good part. At all events, you will 
thank me for giving you an account of what is passing at Moscow." 

** I will never sign a peace as long as a single foe remains 
on Russian ground/' the Emperor Alexander had said when 
he heard that Napoleon had crossed the Nieman. He kept 
his word in spite of all Napoleon's overtures. The French 
position grew worse from day to day. No food, no fresh 
supplies, the cold increasing, the army disheartened, the 
number of Russians around Moscow growing larger. Noth- 
ing but a retreat could save the remnant of the French. It 
began on October 19th, one hundred and fifteen thousand 
men leaving Moscow. They were followed by forty thou- 
sand vehicles loaded with the sick and with what supplies 
they could get hold of. The route was over the fields de- 
vastated a month before. The Cossacks harassed them night 
and day, and the cruel Russian cold dropped from the skies, 
cutting them down like a storm of scythes. Before Smo- 
lensk was reached, thousands of the retreating army were 


Napoleon had ordered that provisions and clothing should 
be collected at Smolensk. When he reached the city he 
found that his directions had not been obeyed. The army, 
exasperated beyond endurance by this disappointment, fell 
into complete and frightful disorganization, and the rest of 
the retreat was like the falling back of a conquered mob. 

There is no space here for the details of this terrible march 
and of the frightful passage of the Beresina. The terror of 
the cold and starvation wrung cries from Napoleon himself. 

** Provisions, provisions, provisions,*' he wrote on No- 
vember 29th from the right bank of the Beresina. " With- 
out them there is no knowing to what horrors this undis- 
ciplined mass will proceed.'' 

And again : '* The army is at its last extremity. It is 
impossible for it to do anything, even if it were a question 
of defending Paris." 

The army finally reached the Nieman. The last man over 
was Marshal Ney. ** Who are you ? " he was asked. " The 
rear guard of the Grand Army," was the sombre reply of 
the noble old soldier. 

Some forty thousand men crossed the river, but of these 
there were many who could do nothing but crawl to the hos- 
pitals, asking for ** the rooms where people die." It was 
true, as Desprez said, the Grand Army was dead. 

It was on this horrible retreat that Napoleon received 
word that a curious thing had happened in Paris. A gen- 
eral and an abbe, both political prisoners, had escaped, and 
actually had succeeded in the preliminaries of a coup d'etat 
overturning the empire, and substituting a provisional gov- 

They had carried out their scheme simply by announcing 
that Napoleon was dead, and by reading a forged proclama- 
tion from the senate to the effect that the imperial govern- 
ment was at an end and a new one begun. The authorities 


to whom these conspirators had gone had with but little 
hesitation accepted their orders. They had secured twelve 
hundred soldiers, had locked up the prefect of police, and 
had taken possession of the Hotel de Ville. 

The foolhardy enterprise went, it is true, only a little w^ay, 
but far enough to show Paris that the day of easy revolution 
had not passed, and that an announcement of the death of 
Napoleon did not bring at once a cry of ** Long live the 
King of Rome ! '* Tlie news of the Malet conspiracy was an 
astonishing revelation to Napoleon himself of the instability 
of French public sentiment. He saw that the support on 
which he had depended most to insure his institutions, that 
is, an heir to his throne, was set aside at the w^ord of a worth- 
less agitator. The impression made on his generals by the 
news was one of consternation and despair. The emperor 
read in their faces that they believed his good fortune was 
waning. He decided to go to Paris as soon as possible. 

On December 5th he left the army, and after a perilous 
journey of twelve days reached the French capital. It 
took as great courage to face France now as it had 
taken audacity to attempt the invasion of Russia. The 
grandest army the nation had ever sent out w^as lying be- 
hind him dead. His throne had tottered for an insiant in 
sight of all France. Hereafter he could not believe him- 
self invincible. Already his enemies were suggesting that 
since his good genius had failed him once, it might again. 

No one realized the gravity of the position as Napoleon 
himself, but he met his household, his ministers, the Council 
of State, the Senate, with an imperial self-confidence and 
a sang froid which are awe-inspiring under the circum- 
stances. The horror of the situation of the army was not 
known in Paris on his arrival, but reports came in daily until 
the truth w-as clear to everybody. But Napoleon never lost 
countenance. The explanations necessary for him to give 


to the Senate, to his allies, and to his friends, had all the 
serenity and the plausibility of a victor — a victor who had 
suffered, to be sure, but not through his own rashness or 
mismanagement. The following quotation from a letter to 
the King of Denmark illustrates well his public attitude to- 
wards the invasion and the retreat from Moscow : 

*' The enemy were always beaten, and captured neither an eagle nor 
a gun from my army. On the 7th of November the cold became intense ; 
all the roads were found impracticable; thirty thousand horses perished 
between the 7th and the i6th. A portion of our baggage and artillery 
wagons was broken and abandoned ; our soldiers, little accustomed 
to such weather, could not endure the cold. They wandered from 
the ranks in quest of shelter for the night, and. having no cavalry to 
protect them, several thousands fell into the hands of the enemy*s 
light troops. General Sanson, chief of the topographic corps, was 
captured by some Cossacks while he was engaged in sketching a 
position. Other isolated officers shared the same fate. My losses arc 
severe, but the enemy cannot attribute to themselves the honor of 
having inflicted them. My army has suffered greatly, and suffers still, 
but this calamity will cease with the cold." 

To every one he declared that it was the Russians, not he, 
who had suffered. It was their great city, not his, which 
was burnt; their fields, not his, which were devastated. 
They did not take an eagle, did not win a battle. It was the 
cold, the Cossacks, which had done the mischief to the 
Grand Army; and that mischief? Why, it would be soon 
repaired. ** I shall be back on the Nieman in the spring.'* 

But the very man who in public and private calmed and 
reassured the nation, was sometimes himself so overwhelmed 
at the thought of the disaster which he had just witnessed, 
that he let escape a cry which showed that it was only his 
indomitable will which was carrying him through ; that his 
heart was bleeding. In the midst of a glowing account to 
the legislative body of his success during the invasion, he 
suddenly stopped. " In a few nights everything changed. 
I have suffered great losses. They w^ould have broken my 

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heart if I had been accessible to any other feelings than the 
interest, the glory, and the future of my people." 

In the teeth of the terrible news coming daily to Paris, 
Napoleon began preparations for another campaign. To 
every one he talked of victory as certain. Those who argued 
against the enterprise he silenced temporarily. ** You should 
say," he wrote Eugene, ** and yourself believe, that in the 
next campaign I shall drive the Russians back across the Nie- 
man.'' With the first news of the passage of the Beresina 
chilling them, the Senate voted an army of three hundred 
and fifty thousand men; the allies were called upon; even 
the marine was obliged to turn men over to the land force. 

But something besides men was necessary. An army 
means muskets and powder and sabres, clothes and boots and 
headgear, wagons and cannon and caisson ; and all these it 
was necessary to manufacture afresh. The task was gigantic ; 
but before the middle of April it was completed, and the em- 
peror was ready to join his army. 

The force against which Napoleon went in 181 3 was the 
most formidable, in many respects, he had ever encountered. 
Its strength was greater. It included Russia, England, 
Spain, Prussia, and Sweden, and the allies believed Austria 
would soon join them. An element of this force more 
powerful than its numbers was its spirit. The allied armies 
fought Napoleon in 18 13 as they would fight an enemy of 
freedom. Central Europe had come to feel that further 
French interference was intolerable. The w^ar had become 
a crusade. The extent of this feeling is illustrated by an 
incident in the Prussian army. In the war of 181 2 Prussia 
was an ally of the French, but at the end of the year General 
Yorck, who commanded a Prussian division, went over to 
the enemy. It was a dishonorable action from a military 
point of view, but his explanation that he deserted as " a 
patriot acting for the welfare of his country " touched 


Prussia ; and though the king disavowed the act, the people 
applauded it. 

Thoughout the German states the feeling against Napo- 
leon was bitter. A veritable crusade had been undertaken 
against him by such men as Stein, and most of the youth 
of the country were united in the TagcndbiimU or League 
of Virtue, which had sworn to take arms for German free- 

When Alexander followed the French across the Nieman, 
announcing that he came bringing ** deliverance to Europe,'* 
and calling on the )eople to unite against the ** common 
enemy,** he found them quick to understand and respond. 

Thus, in 1813 Napoleon did no: go against kings and 
armies, but against peoples. No one understood this better 
than he did himself, and he counselled his allies that it was 
not against the foreign enemy alone that they had to protect 
themselves. ** There is one more dangerous to be feared — 
the spirit of revolt and anarchy.** 



THE campaign opened May 2, 18 13, southwest of 
Leipsic, with the battle of Liitzen. It was Na- 
poleon's victory, though he could not follow it up, 
as he had no cavalry. The moral effect of Liitzen was ex- 
cellent in the French army. Among the allies there was a 
return to the old dread of the " monster." By May 8th the 
French occupied Dresden ; from there they crossed the Elbe, 
and on the 21st fought the battle of Bautzen, another incom- 
plete victory for Napoleon. The next day, in an engage- 
ment with the Russian rear guard, Marshal Duroc, one of 
Napoleon's warmest and oldest friends, was killed. It was 
the second marshal lost since the campaign began, Bessieres 
having been killed at Liitzen. 

The French obtained Breslau on June ist, and three days 
later an armistice was signed, lasting until August loth. 
It was hoped that peace might be concluded during this 
armistice. At that moment Austria held the key to the 
situation. The allies saw that they were defeated if they 
could not persuade her to join them. Napoleon, his old 
confidence restored by a series of victories, hoped to keep 
his Austrian father-in-law quiet until he had crushed the 
Prussians and driven the Russians across the Nieman. Aus- 
tria saw her power, and determined to use it to regain terri- 
tory lost in 1805 and 1809, and Metternich came to Dresden 
to see Napoleon. Austria would keep peace with France, he 
said if Napoleon would restore Illyria and the Polish prov- 


Engraved by Uenedctti. 


inces, would send the Pope back to Rome, give up the pro- 
tectorate of the Confederation of the Rhine, restore Naples 
and Spain. Napoleon's amazement and indignation were 

*' How much has England given you for playing this role 
against me, Metternich ? '' he asked. 

A semblance of a congress was held at Prague soon after, 
but it was only a mockery. Such was the exasperation and 
suffering of Central Europe, that peace could only be reached 
by large sacrifices on Napoleon's part. These he refused 
to make. There is no doubt but that France and his allies 
begged him to compromise; that his wisest counsellors ad- 
vised him him to do so. But he repulsed with irritation 
all such suggestions. " You bore me continually about the 
necessity of peace," he wrote Savary. " I know the situa- 
tion of my empire better than you do; no one is more in- 
terested in concluding peace than myself, but I shall not 
make a dishonorable peace, or one that would see us at war 
again in six months. . . . These things do not concern 

By the middle of August the campaign began. The 
French had in the field some three hundred and sixty thou- 
sand men. This force was surrounded by a circle of armies, 
Swedish, Russian, Prussian, and Austrian, in all some eight 
hundred thousand men. The leaders of this hostile force 
included, besides the natural enemies of France, Bernadotte, 
crow^n prince of Sweden, who had fought with Napo- 
leon in Italy, and General Moreau, the hero of Hohen- 
linden. Moreau was on Alexander's staff. He had reached 
the army the night that the armistice expired, having sailed 
from the United States on the 21st of June, at the invitation 
of the Russian emperor, to aid in the campaign against 
France. He had been greeted by the allies with every mark 
of distinction. Another deserter on the allies' staff was the 


eminent military critic Jomini. In the ranks were stragglers 
from all the French corps, and the Saxons were threatening 
to leave the French in a body, and go over to the allies. 

The second campaign of 1813 opened brilliantly for Na- 
poleon, for at Dresden he took twenty thousand prisoners, 
and captured sixty cannon. The victory turned the anxiety 
of Paris to hopefulness, and their faith in Napoleon's star 
was further revived by the report that Moreau had fallen, 
both legs carried off by a French bullet. Moreau himself 
felt that fate was friendly to the emi)eror. ** That rascal 
Bonaparte is always lucky," he wrote his wife, just after 
the amputation of his legs. 

But there was something stronger than luck at work; 
the allies were animated by a spirit of nationality, indomi- 
table in its force, and they were following a plan which was 
sure to crush Napoleon in the long run. It was one laid 
out by Moreau ; a general battle was not to be risked, but 
the corps of the French were to be engaged one by one, 
until the parts of the army were disabled. In turn Van- 
damme, Gudinot, MacDonald, Ney, were defeated, and in 
October the remnanis of the French fell back to Leipsic. 
Here the horde that surrounded them was suddenly enlarged. 
The Bavarians had gone over to the allies. 

A three days' battle at Leipsic exhausted the French, and 
they were obliged to make a disastrous retreat to the 
Rhine, w^hich they crossed November ist. Ten days later 
the emperor was in Paris. 

The situation of France at the end of 18 13 was deplorable. 
The allies lay on the right bank of the Rhine. The battle of 
Vittoria had given the Spanish boundary to Wellington, 
and the English and Spanish armies were on the frontier. 
The allies which remained with the French were not to be 
trusted. '' All Europe was marching with us a year ago," 
Napoleon said; ** to-day all Europe is marching against us." 


There was despair among his generals, alarm in Paris. Be- 
sides, there seemed no human means of gathering up a new 
armv. Where were the men to come from? France was 
bled to death. She could give no more. Her veins were 

" This is the truth, the exact truth, and such is the secret 
and the explanation of all that has since occurred," says 
Pasquier. " With these successive levies of conscriptions, 
past, present, and to come ; with the Guards of Honor ; with 
the brevet of sub-Heutenant forced on the young men ap- 
pertaining to the best families, after they had escaped the 
conscript, or had supplied substitutes in conformity with 
the provisions of the law, there did not remain a single 
family which was not in anxiety or in mourning." 

Yet hedged in as he was by enemies, threatened by an- 
archy, supported by a fainting people, Napoleon dallied over 
the peace the allies offered. The terms were not dishonorable. 
France was to retire, as the other nations, within her natural 
boundaries, which they designated as the Rhine, the Alps, 
and the Pyrenees. But the emperor could not believe that 
Europe, whom he had defeated so often, had power to con- 
fine him within such limits. He could not believe that such 
a peace would be stable, and he began preparations for re- 
sistance. Fresh levies of troops w^ere made. The Spanish 
frontier he attempted to secure by making peace with Ferdi- 
nand, recognizing him as King of Spain. He tried to settle 
his trouble with the Pope. 

While he struggled to simplify the situation, to arouse 
national spirit, and to gather reenforcements, hostile forces 
multiplied and closed in upon him. The allies crossed the 
Rhine. The corps legislatif took advantage of his necessity 
to demand the restoration of certain rights which he had 
taken from them. In his anger at their audacity, the em- 
peror alienated pubKc sympathy by dissolving the body. 


" I stood in need of something to console me/' he told them, 
" and you have sought to dishonor me. I was expecting 
that you would unite in mind and deed to drive out the for- 
eigner ; you have bid him come. Indeed, had I lost two bat- 
tles, it would not have done France any greater evil." To 
crown his evil day, Murat, Caroline's husband, now King of 
Naples, abandoned him. This betrayal was the more bitter 
because his sister herself was the cause of it. Fearful of 
losing her little glory as Queen of Naples, Caroline watched 
the course of events until she was certain that her brother 
was lost, and then urged Murat to conclude a peace with 
England and Austria. 

This accumulation of reverses, coming upon him as he 
tried to prepare for battle, drove Napoleon to approach the 
allies with proposals of peace. It was too late. The idea had 
taken root that France, with Napoleon at her head, would 
never remain in her natural limits; that the only hope for 
Europe was to crush him completely. This hatred of Napo- 
leon had become almost fanatical, and made any terms of 
peace with him impossible. 

By the end of January, 1814, the emperor was ready to 
renew^ the struggle. The day before he left Paris, he led the 
empress and the King of Rome to the court of the Tuileries, 
and presented them to the National Guard. He was leaving 
them what he held dearest in the world, he told them. The 
enemy were closing around ; they might reach Paris ; they 
might even destroy the city. While he fought without to 
shield France from this calamity, he prayed them to protect 
the priceless trust left within. The nobility and sincerity of 
the feeling that stirred the emperor were unquestionable; 
tears flowed down the cheeks of the men to whom he spoke, 
and for a moment every heart w^as animated by the old emo- 
tion, and they took with eagerness the oath he asked. 

The next day he left Paris. The army he commanded did 

CAMPAIGN OF i8 13— CAMPAIGN OF 18 14 259 

not number more than sixty thousand men. He led it 
against a force which, counting only those who had crossed 
the Rhine, numbered nearly six hundred thousand. 

In the campaign of two months which followed, Napoleon 
several times defeated the allies. In spite of the terrible dis- 
advantages under which he fought, he nearly drove them 
from the country. In every way the campaign was worthy 
of his genius. But the odds against him were too tremen- 
dous. The saddest phase of his situation was that he was 
not seconded. The people, the generals, the legislative 
bodies, everybody not under his personal influence seemed 
paralyzed. Augereau, who was at Lyons, did absolutely 
nothing, and the following letter to him shows with what 
energy and indignation Napoleon tried to arouse his stupe- 
fied followers. 

" NoGENT, 2ist February, 1814. 

"... What ! six hours after having received the first troops com- 
ing from Spain you were not in the field ! Six hours' repose was suffi- 
cient. I won the action of Nangis with a brigade of dragoons coming 
from Spain, which, since it left Bayonne. had not unbridled its horses. 
The six battalions of the division of Nismes want clothes, equipment, 
and drilling, say you. What poor reasons you give me there, Augereau ! 
I have destroyed eighty thousand enemies with conscripts having 
nothing but knapsacks ! The National Guards, say you, are pitiable. 
I have four thousand here, in round hats, without knapsacks, in wooden 
shoes, but with good muskets, and I get a great deal out of them. 
There is no money, you continue; and where do you hope to draw 
money from? You want wagons; take them wherever you can. You 
have no magazines ; this is too ridiculous. I order you, twelve hours after 
the reception of this letter, to take the field. If you are still Augereau 
of Castiglione. keep the command; but if your sixty years weigh upon 
you, hand over the command to your senior general. The country 
is in danger, and can be saved by boldness and good will alone. . 

" Napoleon." 

The terror and apathy of Paris exasperated him beyond 
measure. To his great disgust, the court and some of the 
counsellors had taken to public prayers for his safety. " I 


see that instead of sustaining the empress," he wrote Cam- 
baceres, '* you discourage her. Why do you lose your head 
hke that ? What are these misereres and these prayers forty 
hours long at the chapel ? Have people in Paris gone mad? " 
The most serious concern of Napoleon in this campaign 
was that the empress and the King of Rome should not be 
captured. He realized that the allies might reach Paris at 
any time, and repeatedly he instructed Joseph, who had been 
appointed lieutenant-general in his absence, what to do if the 
city was threatened. 

" Never allow the empress or the King of Rome to fall into the 
hands of the enemy As far as I am concerned, I would 

rather see my son slain than brought up at Vienna as an Austrian 
prince ; and I have a sufficiently good opinion of the empress to feel 
persuaded that she thinks in the same way. as far as it is possible 
for a woman and a mother to do so. I never saw Andromaque 
represented without pitying Astyanax surviving his family, and with- 
out regarding it as a piece of good fortune that he did not survive 
his father." 

Throughout the two months there were negotiations for 
peace. They varied according to the success or failure of 
the emperor or the allies. Napoleon had reached a point 
where he would gladly have accepted the terms offered at the 
close of 18 1 3. But those were withdrawn. France must 
come down to her limits in 1789. ** What! " cried Napo- 
leon, " leave France smaller than I found her? Never." 

The frightful combination of forces closed about him 
steadily, with the deadly precision of the chamber of torture, 
whose adjustable walls imperceptibly, but surely, draw to- 
gether, day by day, until the victim is crushed. On the 30th 
of March Paris capitulated. The day before, the Regent 
Marie Louise with the King of Rome and her suite had left 
the city for Blois. The allied sovereigns entered Paris on 
the 1st of April. As they passed through the streets, they 
saw multiplying, as they advanced, the white cockades which 


the grandcs dames of the Faubourg St. Germain had been 
making in anticipation of the entrance of the foreigner, and 
the only cries which greeted them as they passed up the 
boulevards were, " Long live the Bourbons! Long live the 
sovereigns! Long live the Emperor Alexander/' 

The allies were in Paris, but Napoleon was not crushed. 
Encamped at Fontainebleau, his army about him, the sol- 
diers everywhere faithful to him, he had still a large chance 
of victory, and the allies looked with uneasiness to see what 
move he would make. It was due largely to the wit of 
Talleyrand that the standing ground which remained to the 
emperor was undermined. That wily diplomat, whose place 
it was to have gone with the empress to Blois, had succeeded 
in getting himself shut into Paris, and, on the entry of the 
allies, had joined Alexander, whom he had persuaded to an- 
nounce that the allied powers would not treat with Napoleon 
nor with any member of his family. This was eliminating 
the most difficult factor from the problem. By his fine tact 
Talleyrand brought over the legislative bodies to this view. 

From the populace Alexander and Talleyrand feared noth- 
ing ; it was too exhausted to ask anything but peace. Their 
most serious difficulty was the army. All over the country 
the cry of the common soldiers was, " Let us go to the em- 
peror.'' *' The army,'' declared Alexander, ** is always the 
army; as long as it is not with tou, gentlemen, you can boast 
of nothing. The army represents the French nation ; if it is 
not won over, what can you accomplish that will endure? " 

Every influence of persuasion, of bribery, of intimidation, 
was used with the soldiers and generals. They were toJd in 
phrases which could not but flatter them : ** You are the 
most noble of the children of the country, and you cannot 
belong to the man who has laid it waste. . . . You are no 
longer the soldiers of Napoleon ; the Senate and all France 
release you from your oaths." 


The older officers on Napoleon's staff at Fontainebleau 
were unsettled bv adroit communications sent from Paris. 
They were made to believe that they were fighting against 
the will of the nation and of their comrades. When this dis- 
affection had become serious, one of Napoleon's oldest and 
most trusted associates, Marmont, suddenly deserted. He 
led the vanguard of the army. This treachery took away 
the last hope of the imperial cause, and on April 11, 1814, 
Napoleon signed the act of abdication at Fontainebleau. The 
act read : 

"The allied powers having proclaimed that the Emperor Napoleon 
Bonaparte is the only obstacle to the reestablishment of peace in Europe, 
the Emperor Napoleon, faithful to his oath, declares that he renounces, 
for himself and his heirs, the thrones of France and Italy, and that 
there is no personal sacrifice, even that of his life, which he is not ready 
to make in the interest of France." 

For only a moment did the gigantic will waver under the 
shock of defeat, of treachery, and of abandonment. Uncer- 
tain of the fate of his wife and child, himself and his family 
denounced by the allies, his army scattered, he braved every- 
thing until Marmont deserted him, and he saw one after 
another of his trusted officers join his enemies ; then for a 
moment he gave up the fight and tried to end his life. The 
poison he took had lost its full force, and he recovered from 
its effects. Even death would have none of him, he groaned. 

But this discouragement was brief. No sooner was it de- 
cided that his future home should be the island of Elba, and 
that its affairs should be under his control, than he began to 
prepare for the journey to his little kingdom with the same 
energy and zest which had characterized him as emperor. 
On the 20th of April he left the palace *of Fontainebleau. ' 

Prin^i), iflcr Dclirocbc, 1845. 





WEEK after bidding his Guard farewell, Napoleon 
sent from Frejus his first address to the inhabitants 
of Elba : 

** Circumstances having induced me to renounce the throne of 
France, sacrificing my rights to the interests of the country, I reserved 
for myself the sovereignty of the island of Elba, which has met with 
the consent of all the powers. I therefore send you General Drouot. 
so that you may hand over to him the said island, with the military 
stores and provisions, and the property which belongs to my imperial 
domain. Be good enough to make known this new state of affairs to the 
inhabitants, and the choice which I have made of their island for my 
sojourn in consideration of the mildness of their manners and the ex- 
cellence of their climate. I shall take the greatest interest in their 


" Napoleon." 

The Elbans received their new ruler with all the pomp 
which their means and experience permitted. The entire 
population celebrated his arrival as a fete. The new flag 
which the emperor had chosen — white ground with red bar 
and three yellow bees — was unfurled, and saluted by the 
forts of the nation and by the foreign vessels in port. The 
keys of the chief town of the island were presented to him, 
a Te Deum was sung. If these honors seemed poor 
and contemptible to Napoleon in comparison with the splen- 
dor of the fetes to which he had become accustomed, he gave 
no sign, and played his part with the same seriousness as he 
had when he received his crown. 



His life at Elba was immediately arranged methodically, 
and he worked as hard and seemingly with as much interest 
as he had at Paris. The affairs of his new state were his 
chief concern, and he set about at once to familiarize himself 
with all their details. He travelled over the island in all 
directions, to acquaint himself with its resources and needs. 
At one time he made the circuit of his domain, entering every 
port, and examining its condition and fortifications. Every- 
where that he went he planned and began works which he 
pushed with energy. Fine roads were laid out ; rocks were 
levelled; a palace and barracks were begun. From his ar- 
rival his influence was beneficial. There was a new atmos- 
phere at Elba, the islanders said. 

The budget at Elba was administered as rigidly as that of 
France had been, and the little army was drilled with as 
great care as the Guards themselves. After the daily review 
of his troops, he rode on horseback, and this promenade be- 
came a species of reception, the islanders w^ho wanted to con- 
sult him stopping him on his route. It is said that he in- 
variably listened to their appeals. 

Elba was enlivened constantly during Napoleon's resi- 
dence by tourists who went out of their way to see him. 
The majority of these curious persons were Englishmen; 
with many of them he talked freely, receiving them at his 
house, and letting them carry off bits of stone or of brick 
from the premises as souvenirs. 

His stay was made more tolerable by the arrival of 
Madame mdrc and of the Princess Pauline and the coming 
of twenty-six members of the National Guard who had 
crossed France to join him. But his great desire that Marie 
Louise and the King of Rome should come to him was 
never gratified. It is told by one of his companions on the 
island, that he kept carefully throughout his stay a stock 
of fireworks which had fallen into his possession, planning 


to use them when his wife and boy should arrive, but, sadly 
enough, he never had an occasion to celebrate that event. 

While to all appearances engrossed with the little affairs 
of Elba, Napoleon was, in fact, planning the most dramatic 
act of his life. On the 26th of February, 181 5, the guard 
received an order to leave the island. With a force of eleven 
hundred men, the emperor passed the foreign ships guard- 
ing Elba, and on the afternoon of the ist of March landed 
at Cannes on the Gulf of Juan. At eleven o'clock that 
night he started towards Paris. He was trusting himself 
to the people and the army. If there never was an example 
of buch audacious confidence, certainly there never was 
such a response. The people of the South received him 
joyfully, offering to sound the tocsin and follow him en 
masse. But Napoleon refused; it was the soldiers upon 
whom he called. 

"We have not been conquered [he told the army]. Come and 
range yourselves under the standard of your chief; his existence de- 
pends upon you; his interests, his honor, and his glory are yours. 
Victory will march at double-quick time. The eagle with the national 
colors will fly from steeple to steeple to the towers of Notre Dame. 
Then you will be able to show your scars with honor; then you will be 
able to boast of what you have done; you will be the liberators of the 

At Grenoble there was a show of resistance. Napoleon 
went directly to the soldiers, followed by his guard. 

" Here I am ; you know me. If there is a soldier among 
you who wishes to kill his emperor, let him do it." 

"Long live the emperor!" was the answer; and in a 
twinkle six thousand men had torn off their white cockades 
and replaced them by old soiled tricolors. They drew them 
from the inside of their caps, where they had been con- 
cealing them since the exile of their hero. " It is the same 
that I wore at Austerlitz," said one as be passed the em- 
peror. " This," said another, ** I had at Marengo." 


From Grenoble the emperor marched to Lyons, where 
the soldiers and officers went over to him in regiments. 
The royalist leaders who had deigned to go to Lyons to 
exhort the army found themselves ignored; and Ney, who 
had been ordered from Besanqon to stop the emperor's ad- 
vance, and who started out promising to " bring back Na- 
poleon in an iron cage," surrendered his entire division. 
It was impossible to resist the force of popular opinion, he 
said. From Lyons the emperor, at the head of what was 
now the French army, passed by Dijon, Autun, Avallon, and 
Auxerre, to Fontainebleau, which he reached on March 
19th. The same day Louis XVIII. fled from Paris. 

The change of sentiment in these few days was well 
illustrated in a French paper which, after Napoleon's re- 
turn, published the following calendar gathered from the 
royalist press. 

February 25. — " The exterminator has signed a treaty 
offensive and defensive. It is not known with whom." 

February 26. — ** The Corsican has left the island of 

March i. — " Bonaparte has debarked at Cannes with 
eleven hundred men." 

March 7. — " General Bonaparte has taken possession of 

March 10. — ** Ara/)(7/^(7« has entered Lyons." 

March 19. — '" The emperor reached Fontainebleau to- 

March 19. — ''His Imperial Majesty is expected at the 
Tuileries to-morrow, the anniversary of the birth of the 
King of Rome." 


Two days before the flight of the Bourbons, the following 
notice appeared on the door of the Tuileries : 

'' The emperor begs the king to send him no more sol- 
diers; he has enough," 

** What was the happiest period of your life as em- 
peror? " O'Meara asked Napoleon once at St. Helena. 

'* The march from Cannes to Paris," he replied im- 

His happiness was short-lived. The overpowering en- 
thusiasm which had made that march possible could not 
endure. The bewildered factions which had been silenced 
or driven out by Napoleon's reappearance recovered from 
their stupor. The royalists, exasperated by their own flight, 
reorganized. Strong opposition developed among the lib- 
erals. It was only a short time before a reaction followed 
the delirium which Napoleon's return had caused in the 
nation. Disaffection, coldness, and plots succeeded. In 
face of this revulsion of feeling, the emperor himself under- 
went a change. The buoyant courage, the amazing audacity 
which had induced him to return from Elba, seemed to leave 
him. He became sad and preoccupied. No doubt much 
of this sadness was due to the refusal of Austria to restore 
his wife and child, and to the bitter knowledge that Marie 
Louise had succumbed to foreign influences and had prom- 
ised never again to see her husband. 

If the allies had allowed the French to manage their 
affairs in their own way, it is probable that Napoleon would 
have mastered the situation, difficult as it was. But this 
they did not do. In spite of his promise to observe the 
treaties made after his abdication, to accept the boundaries 
fixed, to abide by the Congress of Vienna, the coalition 
treated him with scorn, affecting to mistrust him. He was 
the disturber of the peace of the world, a public enemy; 

Painlcd and 

•.d by Jai 

ne. Ward. 

K. A. 

f ih 

c Kuyal Vt 

liled Se 

under the picl 




II whiib 

of Marengo. . 


e ii 

iiff'box, ™1 

Ikf. in 




l-alacc. In tbe Ii. 



«i by bim . 

It Slan.1 

Ruiaian cimpa 


at Waterk 

• Marenfl» w» 


ert ixi 

: near hip i 

the hollow roi 



of (he French | 

I ii tbe legend: ' Hoof of Marength 

ound Ihe hoof' tbe I'cfrend continues*: 
rioo. when hit masier vat on him in 
waition. He bad been frequentlf 


he must be put l)eyond the pale of society, and they took up 
arms, not against France, but against Napoleon. France, as 
it appeared, was not to be allowed to choose her own rulers. 

The position in which Napoleon found himself on the 
declaration of war was of exceeding difficulty, but he mas- 
tered the opposition with all his old genius and resources. 
Three months after the landing at Cannes he had an army 
of two hundred thousand men ready to march. He led it 
against at least five hundred thousand men. 

On June 15th, Napoleon's army met a portion of the 
enemy in Belgium, near Brussels, and on July i6th, 17th, 
and 1 8th were fought the battles of Ligny, Quatre Bras, 
and Waterloo, in the last of which he was completely de- 
feated. The limits and nature of this sketch do not permit 
a description of the engagement at Waterloo. The litera- 
ture on the subject is perhaps richer than that on any other 
subject in military science. Thousands of books discuss the 
battle, and each succeeding generation takes it up as if 
nothing had been written on it. But while Waterloo cannot 
be discussed here, it is not out of place to notice that among 
the reasons for its loss are certain ones which interest us 
because they are personal to Napoleon. He whose great 
rule in wars was, *' Time is everything," lost time at Water- 
loo. He who had looked after everything which he wanted 
well done, neglected to assure himself of such an important 
matter as the exact position of his enemy. He who once 
had been able to go a week without sleep, was ill. Again, 
if one will compare carefully the Bonaparte of Guerin (page 
108) with the Napoleon of Girodet (page 240), he will un- 
derstand, at least partially, why the battle of Waterloo was 

The defeat was complete ; and when the emperor saw it, 
he threw himself into the battle in search of death. As 
eagerly as he had sought victory at Areola, Marengo, Aus- 

Thii original icrics of hali 
pencil of Sicubcn. one of 11 
boliui the dght principal epoch) 

I. Vendfmlaire. 

4. Auslerlit 

». Coniulau. 

5. Wagram 

3. Empire. 


terlitz, he sought death at Waterloo. " I ought to have 
died at Waterloo," he said afterwards; "but the misfor- 
tune is that when a man seeks death most he cannot find it. 
Men were killed around me, before, behind — everywhere. 
But there was no bullet for me." 

He returned immediately to Paris. There was still force 
for resistance in France. There were many to urge him to 
return to the struggle, but such was the condition of public 
sentiment that he refused. The country was divided in its 
allegiance to him; the legislative body was frightened and 
f|uarrelling ; Talleyrand and Fouche were plotting. Be- 
sides, the allies proclaimed to the nation that it was against 
Napoleon alone that they waged war. Under these cir- 
cumstances Napoleon felt that loyalty to the best interest of 
France required his abdication ; and he signed the act anew, 
proclaiming his son emperor under the title of Napoleon IL 

Leaving Paris, the fallen emperor went to Malmaison, 
where Josephine had died only thirteen months before. 
A few friends joined him — Queen Hortense, the Due de 
Rovigo, Bertrand, Las Cases, and Meneval. He remained 
there only a few days. The allies were approaching Paris, 
and the environs were in danger. Napoleon offered his 
services to the provisional government, which had taken his 
place, as leader in the campaign against the invader, prom- 
ising to retire as soon as the enemy was repulsed, but he was 
refused. The government feared him, in fact, more than it 
did the allies, and urged him to leave France as quickly as 
possible. In his disaster he turned to America as a refuge, 
and gave his family rendezvous there. 

Various plans were suggested for getting to the United 
States. Among the offers of aid to carry out his desire 
which were made to Napoleon, Las Cases speaks of one 
coming from an American in Paris, who wrote : 

" While you were at the head of a nation you could perform any 


miracle, you might conceive any hopes; but now you can do nothing 
more in Europe. Fly to the United States ! I know the hearts of ihe 
leading men and the sentiments of the people of America. You 
will there find a second country and every source of consolation.'" 

Mr. S. V. S. Wilder, an American shipping merchant 
who lived in France during the time of Napoleon's power, 
and who had been much impressed by the changes brought 
about in society and politics under his rule, offered to help 
him to escape. He proposed that the emperor disguise him- 
self as a valet for whom he had a passport. On board the 
ship the emperor was to conceal himself in a hogshead 
until the danger-line was crossed. This hogshead was to 
have a false compartment in it. From the end in view, 
water was to drip incessantly. Mr. Wilder proposed to 
take Napoleon to his own home in Bolton, Massachusetts, 
when thev arrived in America. It is said that the em- 
peror seriously considered this scheme, but finally declined, 
because he would leave his friends behind him, and for 
them Mr. Wilder could not possibly provide. Napoleon 
explained one day to Las Cases at St. Helena what he 
intended to do if he had reached America. He would have 
collected all his relatives around him, and thus would have 
formed the nucleus of a national union, a second France. 
Such were the sums of money he had given them that he 
thought they might have realized at least forty millions of 
francs. Before the conclusion of a year, the events of Eu- 
rope would have drawn to him a hundred millions of francs 
and sixty thousand individuals, most of them possessing 
wealth, talent, and information. 

" America [he said] was, in all respects, our proper asylum. It is 
an immense continent, possessing the advantage of a peculiar system 
of freedom. If a man is troubled with melancholy, he may get into 
a coach and drive a thousand leagues, enjoying all the way the pleas- 
ures of a common traveller. In America you may be on a footing of 
equality with everyone; you may. if you please, mingle with the 


crowd without inconvenience, retaining your own manners, your own 
language, your own religion." 

On June 29th, a week after his return to Paris from 
Waterloo, Napoleon left Malmaison for Rochefort, hoping 
to reach a vessel which w^ould carry him to the United 
States; but the coast was so guarded by the English that 
there was no escape. 


napoleon's surrender to ENGLAND SENT TO ST. 


WHEN it became evident that it was impossible to 
escape to the United States, Napoleon consid- 
ered two courses — to call upon the country and 
renew the conflict, or seek an asylum in England. The 
former was not only to perpetuate the foreign war, it was 
to plunge France into civil war; for a large part of the 
countrv had come to the conclusion of the allies — that as 
long as Napoleon was at large, peace was impossible. 
Rather than involve France in such a disaster, the emperor 
resolved at last to give himself up to the English, and sent 
the following note to the regent : 

'* Royal Highness: Exposed to the factions which divide my 
country and to the hostility of the greatest powers of Europe, I have 
closed my political career. I have come, like Themistocles to seek 
the hospitality of the British nation. I place myself under the pro- 
tection of their laws, which I claim from your Royal Highness as the 
most powerful, the most constant, and the most generous of my 


" Napoleon.*' 

On the 15th of July he embarked on the English ship, 
the ** Bellerophon,'' and a week later he was in Plymouth. 

Napoleon's surrender to the English was made, as he 
says, with full confidence in their hospitality. Certainly 
hospitality was the last thing to expect of England under 
the circumstances, and there was something theatrical in 
the demand for it. The " Bellerophon '* was no sooner in 



the harbor of Plymouth than it became evident that he was 
regarded not as a guest, but as a prisoner. Armed vessels 
surrounded the ship he was on; extraordinary messages 
were hurried to and fro; sinister rumors ran among the 
crew. The Tower of London, a desert isle, the ends of the 
earth, were talked of as the hospitality England was pre- 

But if there was something theatrical, even humorous, 
in the idea of expecting a friendly welcome from England, 
there was every reason to suppose that she would receive 
him with dignity and consideration. Napoleon had been an 
enemy worthy of English metal. He had been defeated 
only after years of struggle. Now that he was at her feet, 
her own self-respect demanded that she treat him as became 
his genius and his position. To leave him at large was, 
of course, out of the question ; but surely he could have been 
made a royal prisoner and been made to feel that if he was 
detained it was because of his might. 

The British government no sooner realized that it had 
its hands on Napoleon than it was seized with a species of 
panic. All sense of dignity, all notions of what was due 
a foe who surrendered, were drowned in hysterical resent- 
ment. The English people as a whole did not share the 
government's terror. The general feeling seems to have 
l)een similar to that which Charles Lamb expressed to 
Southey : " After all, Bonaparte is a fine fellow, as my bar- 
ber says, and I should not mind standing bare-headed at 
his table to do him service in his fall. They should have 
given him Hampton Court or Kensington, with a tether 
extending forty miles round London." 

But the government could see nothing but danger in 
keeping such a force as Napoleon within its limits. It evi- 
dently took Lamb's whimsical suggestion, that if Napo- 
leon were at Hampton the people might some day eject the 


Brunswick in his favor, in profound seriousness. On July 
30th it sent a communication to General Bonaparte — the 
English henceforth refused him the title of emperor, though 
permitting him that of general, not reflecting, probably, 
that if one was spurious the other was, since both had been 
conferred by the same authority — notifying him that as it 
was necessary that he should not be allowed to disturb the 
repose of England any longer, the British government had 
chosen the island of St. Helena as his future residence, and 
that three persons with a surgeon would be allowed to ac- 
company him. A week later he was transferred from the 
** Bellerophon '' to the '' Northumberland,*' and was en 
route for St. Helena, where he arrived in October, 181 5. 

The manner in which the British carried out their de- 
cision was irritating and unworthy. They seemed to feel 
that guarding a prisoner meant humiliating him, and of- 
fensive and unnecessary restrictions were made which 
wounded and enraged Napoleon. 

The effect of this treatment on his character is one of the 
most interesting studies in connection with the man, and, on 
the whole, it leaves one with increased respect and admi- 
ration for him. He received the announcement of his exile 
in indignation. He was not a prisoner, he was the guest 
of England, he said. It was an outrage against the laws 
of hospitality to send him into exile, and he would never 
submit voluntarily. When he became convinced that the 
British were inflexible in their decision, he thought of 
suicide, and even discussed it with Las Cases. It was the 
most convenient solution of his dilemma. It would injure 
no one, and his friends would not be forced then to leave 
their families. It was easier because he had no scruples 
which opposed it. The idea was finally given up. A man 
ought to live out his destiny, he said, and he decided that 
his should be fulfilled. 


The most serious concern Napoleon felt in facing his 
new life was that he would have no occupation. He saw 
at once that St. Helena would not be an Elba. But he reso- 
lutely made occupations. He sought conversation, studied 
English, played games, began to dictate his memoirs. It 
is to this admirable determination to find something to do, 
that we owe his clear, logical commentaries, his essays on 
Caesar, Turenne, and Frederick, his sketch of the Republic, 
and the vast amount of information in the journals of 
his devoted comrades, O'Meara, Las Cases, Montholon. 

But no amount of forced occupation could hide the deso- 
lation of his position. The island of St. Helena is a mass of 
jagged, gloomy rocks ; the nearest land is six hundred miles 
away. Isolated and inaccessible as it is, the English placed 
Napoleon in its most sombre and remote part — a place 
called Longwood, at the summit of a mountain, and to the 
windward. The houses at Longwood were damp and un- 
healthv. There was no shade. Water had to be carried 
some three miles. 

The governor, Sir Hudson Lowe, was a tactless man, 
with a propensity for bullying those whom he ruled. He 
was haunted by the idea that Napoleon was trying to 
escape, and he adopted a policy which was more like that 
of a jailer than of an officer. In his first interview with 
the emperor he so antagonized him that Napoleon soon re- 
fused to see him. Napoleon's antipathy was almost super- 
stitious. ** I never saw such a horrid countenance," he told 
O'Meara. " He sat on a chair opposite to my sofa, and on 
the little table between us there was a cup of coffee. His 
physiognomy made such an unfavorable impression upon 
me that I thought his evil eye had poisoned the coffee, and 
I ordered Marchand to throw it out of the window. I 
could not have swallowed it for the world." 

Aggravated by Napoleon's refusal to see him, Sir Hudson 


Lowe became more annoying and petty in his regulations. 
All free communication between Longwood and the in- 
habitants of the island was cut off. The newspapers sent 
Napoleon were mutilated; certain books were refused; his 
letters were opened. A bust of his son brought to the island 
by a sailor was withheld for weeks. There was incessant 
haggling over the expenses of his establishment. His 
friends were subjected to constant annoyance. All news of 
Marie Louise and of his son was kept from him. 

It is scarcely to be wondered at that Napoleon was often 
peevish and obstinate under this treatment, or that fi"e- 
quently, when he allowed himself to discuss the governor's 
policy with the members of his suite, his temper rose, as 
Montholon said, ** to thirty-six degrees of fury.*' His sit- 
uation was made more miserable by his ill health. His 
promenades were so guarded by sentinels and restricted to 
such limits that he finally refused to take exercise, and after 
that his disease made rapid marches. 

His fretfulness, his unreasonable deteirnination to house 
himself, his childish resentment at Sir Hudson Lowe's con- 
duct, have led to the idea that Napoleon spent his time at 
St. Helena in fuming and complaining. But if one will take 
into consideration the work that the fallen emperor did in 
his exile, he will have a quite different impression of this 
period of his life. He lived at St. Helena from October, 
1815, to May, 1821. In this pferiod of five and a half years he 
wrote or dictated enough matter to fill the four good-sized 
volumes which complete the bulky correspondence published 
by the order of Napoleon III., and he furnished the great 
collection of conversations embodied in the memoirs pub- 
lished by his companions. 

This means a great amount of thinking and planning; 
for if one will go over these dictatwns and writings to see 


how they were made, he will find that they are not slovenly 
in arrangement or loose in style. On the contrary, they are 
concise, logical, and frequently vivid. They are full of 
errors, it is true, but that is due to the fact that Napoleon 
had not at hand any official documents for making history. 
He depended almost entirely on his memory. The books 
and maps he had, he used diligently, but his supply was 
limited and unsatisfactory. 

It must be remembered, too, that this work was done 
under great physical difficulties. He was suffering keenly 
much of the time after he reached the island. Even for a 
well man, working under favorable circumstances, the liter- 
ary output of Napoleon at St. Helena would be creditable. 
For one in his circumstances it was extraordinary. A look 
at it is the best possible refutation of the common notion 
that he spent his time at St. Helena fuming at Sir Hudson 
Lowe and " stewing himself in hot water," to use the ex- 
pression of the governor. 

Before the end of 1820 it was certain that he could not 
live long. In December of that year the death of his sister 
Eliza was announced to him. ** You see, Eliza has just 
shown me the way. Death, which had forgotten my family, 
has begun to strike it. My turn cannot be far off." Nor 
was it. On May 5, 1821, he died. 

His preparations for death were methodical and com- 
plete. During the last fortnight of April all his strength 
was spent in dictating to Montholon his last wishes. He 
even dictated, ten days before the end, the note which he 
wished sent to Sir Hudson Lowe to announce his death. 
The articles he had in his possession at Long^ood he had 
wrapped up and ticketed with the names of the persons 
to whom he wished to leave them. His will remembered 
numbers of those whom he had loved or who had served 


him. Even the Chinese laborers then employed about the 
place were remembered. " Do not let them be forgotten. 
Let them have a few score of napoleons. 

The will included a final word on certain questions on 
which he felt posterity ought distinctly to understand his 
position. He died, he said, in the apostolical Roman re- 
ligion. He declared that he had always been pleased with 
Marie Louise, whom he besought to watch over his son. 
To this son, whose name recurs repeatedly in the will, he 
gave a motto — All for the French people. He died pre- 
maturely, he said, assassinated by the English oligarchy. 
The unfortunate results of the invasion of France he at- 
tributed to the treason of Marmont, Augereau, Talley- 
rand, and Lafayette. He defended the death of the Due 
d'Enghien. " Under similar circumstances I should act 
in the same w-ay.'* This will is sufficient evidence that he 
died as he had lived, courageously and proudly, and in- 
spired by a profound conviction of the justice of his own 
cause. In 1822 the French courts declared the will void. 

They buried him in a valley beside a spring he loved, 
and though no monument but a willow marked the spot, 
perhaps no other grave in history is so well known. Cer- 
tainly the magnificent mausoleum which marks his present 
resting place in Paris has never touched the imagination 
and the heart as did the humble willow-shaded mound in 
St. Helena. 

The peace of the world was insured. Napoleon was 
dead. But though he was dead, the echo of his deeds was 
so loud in the ears of France and England that they tried 
every device to turn it into discord or to drown it by an- 
other and a newer sound. The ignoble attempt was never 
entirely successful, and the day will come w^hen personal 
and partisan considerations wmII cease to influence judg- 
ments on this mighty man. For he was a mighty man. 



One may be convinced that the fundamental principles of 
his life were despotic; that he used the noble ideas of per- 
sonal liberty, of equality, and of fraternity, as a tyrant; 
that the whole tendency of his civil and military system was 
to concentrate a power in a single pair of hands, never to 
distribute it where it belonged, among the people; one may 
feel that he frequently sacrificed personal dignity to. a 
theatrical desire to impose on the crowd as a hero of classic 
proportions, a god from Olympus ; one may groan over the 
blood he spilt. But he cannot refuse to acknowledge that 
no man ever comprehended more clearly the splendid science 
of war ; he cannot fail to bow to the genius which conceived 
and executed the Italian campaign, which fought the classic 
battles of Austerlitz, Jena, and Wagram. These deeds are 
great epics. They move in noble, measured lines, and stir 
us by their might and perfection. It is only a genius of the 
most magnificent order which could handle men and ma- 
terials as Napoleon did. 

He is even more imposing as a statesman. When one 
confronts the France of 1799, corrupt, crushed, hopeless, 
false to the great ideals she had wasted herself for, and 
watches Napoleon firmly and steadily bring order into this 
chaos, give the country work and bread, build up her broken 
walls and homes, put money into her pocket and restore her 
credit, bind up her wounds and call back her scattered chil- 
dren, set her again to painting pictures and reading books, 
to smiling and singing, he has a Napoleon greater than the 

Nor were these civil deeds transient. France to-day is 
largely what Napoleon made her, and the most liberal in- 
stitutions of continental Europe bear his impress. It is only 
a mind of noble proportions which can grasp the needs of a 
people, and a hand of mighty force which can supply them. 

But he was greater as a man than as a warrior or states- 


man ; greater in that rare and subtle personal quality which 
made men love him. Men went down on their knees and 
wept at sight of him when he came home from Elba — rough 
men whose hearts were untrained, and who loved naturally 
and spontaneously the thing which was lovable. It was 
only selfish, warped, abnormal natures, which had been sti- 
fled by etiquette and diplomacy and self-interest, who aban- 
doned him. Where nature lived in a heart, Napoleon^s sway 
was absolute. It was not strange. He was in everything 
a natural man; his imagination, his will, his intellect, his 
heart, were native, untrained. They appealed to unworldly 
men in all their rude, often brutal strength and sweetness. 
If they awed them, they won them. 

This native force of Napoleon explains, at least partially, 
his hold on men ; it explains, too, the contrasts of his char- 
acter. Never was there a life lived so full of lights and 
shades, of majors and minors. It was a kaleidoscope, chang- 
ing at every moment. Beside the most practical and com- 
mon-place qualities are the most idealistic. No man ever 
did more drudgery, ever followed details more slavishly; 
yet who ever dared so divinely, ever played such hazardous 
games of chance? No man ever planned more for his fel- 
lows, yet who ever broke so many hearts? No man ever 
made practical realities of so many of liberty's dreams, yet 
it was by despotism that he gave liberal and beneficent laws. 
No man was more gentle, none more cruel. Never was 
there a more chivalrous lover until he was disillusioned; a 
more affectionate husband, even when faith had left him; 
yet no man ever trampled more rudely on womanly delicacy 
and reserve. 

He was valorous as a god in danger, loved it, played with 
it ; yet he would turn pale at a broken mirror, cross himself 
if he stumbled, fancy the coflfee poisoned at which an enemy 
had looked. 


He was the greatest genius of his time, perhaps of all time, 
yet he lacked the crown of greatness — that high wisdom 
born of reflection and introspection which knows its own 
powers and limitations, and never abuses them; that fine 
sense of proportion which holds the rights of others in the 
same solemn reverence it demands for its own. 




It is my wtsh that my ashes may repose on the banks of the Seine^ in the midst of the 
French people^ whom J have loved so tt>^//.— Testament of Napoleon, 2d Clause. 

He wants not this; but France shall feel the want 

Of this last consolation, thought so scant; 

Her honor, fame, and faith demand his bones, 

To rear above a pyramid of thrones ; 

Or carried onward, in the battle's van. 

To form, like Guesclin's dust, her talisman. 

But be it as it is. the time may come. 

His name shall beat the alarm like Ziska's drum. 

— Byron, in The Age of Bronze. 

ON May 12, 1840, Louis Philippe being king of the 
French people, the Chamber of Deputies was busy 
with a discussion on sugar tariffs. It had been 
dragging somewhat, and the members w^ere showing signs 
of restlessness. Suddenly the Count de Remusat, then Min- 
ister of the Interior, appeared, and asked a hearing for a 
communication from the government. 

** Gentlemen/' he said, *' the king has ordered his Royal 
Highness Monseigneur the Prince de Joinville* to go with 
his frigate to the island of St. Helena, there to collect the 
remains of the Emperor Napoleon." 

A tremor ran over the House. The announcement was 
utterly unexpected. Napoleon to come back! The body 
seemed electrified, and the voice of the minister was drowned 
for a moment in applause. When he went on it was to say : 

• The Prince of Joinville was the Third son of Louis Philippe. 



" We have come to ask for an appropriation which shall 
enable us to receive the remains in a fitting manner, and to 
raise an enduring tomb to Napoleon." 

" Tres bien! Trh bien! *' cried the House. 

" The government, anxious to discharge a great national 
duty, asked England for the precious treasure which fortune 
had put into her hands. 

" The thought of France was welcomed as soon as ex- 
pressed. Listen to the reply of our magnanimous ally : 

it i' 

The government of her Majesty hopes that the promptness of her 
response will be considered in France as a proof of her desire to efface 
the last traces of those national animosities which armed France and 
England against each other in the life of the emperor. The govern- 
ment of her Majesty dares to hope that if such sentiments still exist 
in certain quarters, they will be buried in the tomb where the remains 
of Napoleon are to be deposited/ " 

The reading of this generous and dignified communica- 
tion caused a profound sensation, and cries of "Bravo! 
bravo!" re-echoed through the hall. The minister, so well 
received, grew eloquent. 

" England is right, gentlemen ; the noble way in which 
restitution has been made will knit the bonds which unite 
us. It will wipe out all traces of a sorrowful past. The 
time has come when the two nations should remember only 
their glory. The frigate freighted with the mortal remains 
of Napoleon will return to the mouth of the Seine. They 
will be placed in the Invalides. A solemn celebration and 
grand religious and military ceremonies will consecrate 
the tomb which must guard them forever. 

** It is important, gentlemen, that this august sepulchre 
should not remain exposed in a public place, in the midst 
of a noisy and inappreciative populace. It should be in a 
silent and sacred spot, where all those who honor glory 
and genius, grandeur and misfortune, can visit it and 


" He was emperor and king. He was the legitimate 
sovereign of our country. He is entitled to burial at Saint- 
Denis. But the ordinary ro>'al sepulchre is not enough for 
Napoleon. He should reign and command forever in the 
spot where the country's soldiers repose, and where those 
who are called to defend it will seek their inspiration. His 
sword will be placed on his tomb. 

" Art will raise beneath the dome of the temple conse- 
crated to the god of battles a tomb worthy, if that be pos- 
sible, of the name which shall be engraved upon it. This 
monument must have a simple beauty, grand outlines, and 
that appearance of eternal strength which defies the action 
of time. Napoleon must have a monument lasting as his 
memory, . , . 

■' Hereafter France and France alone, will possess all 
that remains of Napoleon. His tomb, like his fame, will 
belong to no one but his country. The monarchy of 1830 
is the only and the legitimate heir of the past of which 
France is so prou<l. It is the duty of this monarchy, which 
was the first to rally all the forces and to conciliate all the 
aspirations of the French Revolution, fearlessly to raise and 
honor the statue and the tomb of the popular hero. There 
is one thing, one only, which does not fear comparison 
with glory — that is liberty." 

Throughout this speech, every word of which was an 
astonishment to the Chamber, sincere and deep emotion 
prevailed. At intervals enthusiastic applause burst forth. 
For a moment all party distinctions were forgotten. The 
whole House was under the sway of that strange and 
powerful emotion which Napoleon, as no other leader who 
ever lived, was able to inspire. 

When the minister followed his speech by the draft of a 
law for a special credit of one million francs, a member, 
beside himself with excitement, moved that rules be laid 


aside and the law voted without the legal preliminaries. 
The president refused to put so irregular a motion, but the 
House would not be quiet. The deputies left their places, 
formed in groups in the hemicycle, surrounded the minister, 
congratulating him with fervor. They walked up and down, 
gesticulating and shouting. It was fully half an hour before 
the president was able to bring them to order, and then 
they were in anything but a working mood. 

** The president must close this session,'* cried an agitated 
member; " the law which has just been proposed has caused 
too great emotion for us to return now to discussing sugar." 
But the president replied very properly, and a little sen- 
tentiously, that the Chamber owed its time to the country's 
business, and that it must give it. And, in spite of their ex- 
citement, the members had to go back to their sugar. 

But how had it come about that the French government 
had dared burst upon the country with so astounding a 
communication. There were many explanations offered. 
A curious story which went abroad took the credit from 
the king and gave it to O'Connell, the Irish agitator. 
As the story went, O'Connell had warned Lord Palmer- 
ston that he proposed to present a bill in the Commons for 
returning Napoleon's remains to France. 

** Take care," said Lord Palmerston. " Instead of pleas- 
ing the French government, you may embarrass it se- 

*' That is not the question," answered O'Connell. " The 
question for me is what I ought to do. Now, my duty is 
to propose to the Commons to return the emperor's bones. 
England's duty is to welcome the motion. I shall make 
my propositions, then, without disturbing myself about 
whom they will flatter or wound." 

** So be it," said Lord Palmerston. *' Only give me fifteen 


" Very well," answered O'Connell. 

Immediately Lord Palmerston wrote to Monsieur Thiers, 
then at the head of the French Ministry, that he was about 
to be forced to tell the country that England had never re- 
fused to return the remains of Napoleon to France, because 
France had never asked that they be returned. As the 
story goes. Monsieur Thiers advised Louis Philippe to 
forestall O'Connell, and thus it came about that Napoleon's 
remains were returned to France. 

The grande pensee, as the idea was immediately called, 
seems, however, to have originated with Monsieur Thiers, 
who saw in it a means of reawakening interest in Louis 
Philippe. He believed that the very audacity of the act 
would create admiration and applause. Then, too, it was in 
harmony with the claim of the regime; that is, that the 
government of 1830 united all that was best in all the past 
governments of France, and so was stronger than any one 
of them. The mania of both king and minister for collect- 
ing and restoring made them think favorably of the idea. 
Already Louis Philii)pe had inaugurated galleries at Ver- 
sailles, and hung them with miles of canvas, celebrating 
the victories of all his predecessors. In the gallery of por- 
traits he had placed Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI. be- 
side Madame Roland, Charlotte Corday, Robespierre, and 
Napoleon and his marshals. 

He had already replaced the statue of Napoleon on the 
top of the Column Vendome. He had restored cathedrals, 
churches, and chateaux, put up statues and monuments, and 
all this he had done with studied indifference to the politics 
of the individuals honored. 

Yet while so many little important personages were being 
exalted, the remains of the greatest leader France had ever 
known, were lying in a far-away island. Louis Philippe 


felt that no monument he could build to the heroes of the 
past would equal restoring Napoleon's remains. 

The matter was simpler, because it was almost certain 
that England would not block the path. The entente cor- 
diale, whose base had been laid by Talleyrand nearly ten 
years earlier, had become a comparatively solid peace, and 
cither nation was willing to go out of the way, if necessary, 
to do the other a neighborly kindness. France was so full 
of good will that she was even willing to ask a favor. Her 
confidence w^as well placed. Two days after Guizot, then 
the French minister to England, had explained the project 
to Lord Palmerston, and made his request, he had his reply. 

The remains of Jthe ** emperor " were at the disposition 
of the French. Of the ** emperor," notice ! After twenty- 
five years England recalled the act of her ministers in 181 5, 
and recognized that France made Napoleon emperor as well 
as general. 

The announcement that Napoleon's remains w'ere to be 
brought back, produced the same eflfect upon the country at 
large that it had upon the Chamber — a moment of acute 
emotion, of all-forgetting enthusiasm. But in the Chamber 
and the country the feeling was short-lived. The political 
aspects of the bold movement were too conspicuous. A 
chorus of criticisms and forebodings arose. It was more 
of Monsieur Thiers' clap-trap, said those opposed to the 
English policy of the government. What particularly 
angered this party, was the words " magnanimous ally '' in 
the minister's address. 

The Bonapartes feigned to despise the proposed cere- 
mony. It was insufficient for the greatness of their hero. 
One million francs could not possibly produce the display 
the object demanded. Another point of theirs was more 
serious. The emperor was the legitimate sovereign of the 


country, they said, quoting from the minister's speech to 
the Chamber, and they added : ** His title was founded on 
the senatus consultum of the year 12, which, by an equal 
number of suffrages, secured the succession to his brother 
Joseph. It was then unquestionably Joseph Bonaparte who 
was proclaimed emperor of the French by the Minister of 
the Interior, and amid the applause of the deputies." 

Scoffers said that Louis Philippe must have discovered 
that his soft mantle of popularity was about worn out, if he 
was going to make one of the old gray redingote of a man 
whom he had called a monster. The Legitimists denied that 
Napoleon was a legitimate sovereign with a right to sleep 
at Saint-Denis like a Bourbon or a Valois. The OrleanistS 
were wounded by the hopes they saw inspired in the Bona- 
partists by this declaration. The Republicans resented the 
honor done to the man whom they held up as the greatest 
of all despots. 

There was a conviction among many that the restoration 
was premature, and probably would bring on the country 
an agitation which would endanger the stability of the 
throne. It was tempting the Bonaparte pretensions cer- 
tainly, and perhaps arousing a tremendous popular sen- 
timent to support them. 

While the press and government, the clubs and cafes, 
discussed the political side of the question, the populace 
quietly revived the Napoleon legend. Within two days 
after the government had announced its intentions, com- 
merce had begim to take advantage of the financial possi- 
bilities in the approaching ceremony. New editions of the 
" Lives *' of Napoleon which Vernet and Raffet had illus- 
trated, were advertised. Dumas' " Life " and Thiers' 
" Consulate and Empire " were announced. Memoirs of 
the period, like those of the Duchesse d'Abrantes and of 
Marmont, were revived. 


As on the announcement of Napoleon's death in 182 1, 
there was an inundation of pamphlets in verse and prose; 
of portraits and war compositions, lithographs, engrav- 
ings, and wood-cuts; of thousands of little objects such as 
the French know so well how to make. The shops and 
street carts were heaped with every conceivable article d la 
Napoleon, The legend grew as the people gazed. 

On July 7th the *' Belle Poule/' the vessel which was to 
conduct the Prince de Joinville, the commander of the ex- 
pedition, to St. Helena, sailed from Toulon accompanied 
by the " Favorite." In the suite of the Prince were several 
old friends of Napoleon: the Baron las Cases, General 
Gourgaud, Count Bertrand, and four of his former serv- 
ants. All these persons had been with him at St. 

The Prince de Joinville had not received his orders to 
go on the expedition with great pleasure. Two of his 
brothers had just been sent to Africa to fight, and he envied 
them "their opportunities for adventures and glory; and, 
besides, he was sick of a most plebeian complaint, the 
measles. *' One day as I lay in high fever," he says in his 
" Memoirs," " I saw my father appear, followed by Mon- 
sieur de Remusat, then Minister of the Interior. This un- 
usual visit filled me with astonishment, and my surprise in- 
creased when my father said, * Joinville, you are to go out 
to St. Helena and bring back Napoleon's coffin.' If I had 
not been in bed already I should have fallen down flat, and 
at first blush I felt no wise flattered when I compared the 
warlike campaign my brothers were on with the under- 
taker's job I was being sent to perform in the other hem- 
isphere. But I served my country, and I had no right to 
discuss mv orders." 

If the young prince was privately a little ashamed of his 
task, publicly he adapted himself admirably to the occasion. 

Prom a recent photograph. 


A voyage of sixty-six days brought the " Belle Poule," 
on October 8th, to St. Helena, where she was welcomed 
by the English with every honor. Indeed, throughout the 
aflfair the attitude of the English was dignified and gener- 
ous. They showed plainly their desire to satisfy and flatter 
the pride and sentiment of the French. 

It had been decided that the exhumation of the body and 
its transfer to the French should take place on the twenty- 
fifth anniversary of the arrival of Napoleon at the island. 
The disinterment was begun at midnight on October 15th, 
the English conducting the work, and a number of the 
French, including those of the party who had been with 
Napoleon at his death, being present. The work was one 
of extraordinary difficulty, for the same remarkable pre- 
cautions against escape were taken in Napoleon's death as 
had been in his life. 

The grave in the Valley of Napoleon, as the place had 
come to be called, was surrounded by an iron railing set in 
a heavy stone curb. Over the grave was a covering of six- 
inch stone which admitted to a vault eleven feet deep, eight 
feet long, and four feet eight inches broad. The vault was 
apparently filled with earth, but digging down some seven 
feet a layer of Roman cement was found ; this broken, laid 
bare a layer of rough-hewn stone ten inches thick, and 
fastened together by iron clamps. It took four and one- 
half hours to remove this layer. The stone up, the slab 
forming the lid of the interior sarcophagus was exposed, 
enclosed in a border of Roman cement strongly attached to 
the walls of the vault. So stoutly had all these various 
coverings been sealed with cement and bound by iron bands, 
that it took the large party of laborers ten hours to reach the 

As soon as exposed the coffin was purified, sprinkled with 
holy water, consecrated by a De Profundis, and then raised 


with the greatest care, and carried into a tent which had 
been prepared for it. After the religious ceremonies, the 
inner coffins were opened. *' The outermost coffin was 
slightly injured," says an eye witness ; " then came one of 
lead, which was in good condition, and enclosed two others 
— one of tin and one of wood. The last coffin was lined 
inside with white satin, which, having become detached by 
the effect of time, had fallen upon the body and enveloped 
it like a winding-sheet, and had become slightly attached 
to it. 

" It is difficult to describe with what anxiety and emotion 
those who were present waited for the moment which was 
to expose to them all that was left of the Emperor Napo- 
leon. Notwithstanding the singular state of preservation 
of the tomb and coffins, we could scarcely hope to find any- 
thing but some misshapen remains of the least perishable 
part of the costume to evidence the identity of the body. 
But when Dr. Guillard raised the sheet of satin, an in- 
describable feeling of surprise and affection was experienced 
by the spectators, many of whom burst into tears. The 
emperor himself was before their eyes! The features of 
the face, though changed, were perfectly recognizable; the 
hands extremely beautiful ; his well-known costume had 
suffered but little, and the colors were easily distinguished. 
The attitude itself was full of ease, and but for the frag- 
ments of satin lining which covered, as with fine gauze, 
several parts of the uniform, we might have believed we still 
saw Napoleon lying on his bed of state." 

A solemn procession was now formed, and the coffin 
borne over the rugged hills of St. Helena to the quay. " We 
were all deeply impressed," says the Prince de Joinville, 
'* when the coffin was seen coming slowly down the moun- 
tain side to the firing of cannon, escorted by British infantry 
with arms reversed, the band playing, to the dull rolling 


accompaniment of the drums, that splendid funeral march 
which English people call the Dead March in Saul/' 

At the head of the quay, the Prince de Joinville, attended 
by the officers of the French vessels, was waiting to receive 
the remains of the emperor. In the midst of the most 
solemn military funeral rites the French embarked with their 
precious charge. ** The scene at that moment was very 
fine," continues the prince. " A magnificent sunset had 
been succeeded by a twilight of the deepest calm. The 
British authorities and the troops stood motionless on the 
beach, while our ship's guns fired a royal salute. I stood 
in the stern of my long-boat, over which floated a magnifi- 
cent tricolor flag, worked by the ladies of St. Helena. Be- 
side me were the generals and superior officers. The pick 
of my topmen, all in white, with crape on their arms, and 
bareheaded like ourselves, rowed the boat in silence, and 
with the most admirable precision. We advanced with 
majestic slowness, escorted by the boats bearing the staflF. 
It was very touching, and a deep national sentiment seemed 
to hover over the whole scene. *' 

But no sooner did the coffin reach the French cutter than 
mourning was changed to triumph. Flags were unfurled, 
masts squared, drums set a-beating, and salvos poured 
from ports and vessels. The emperor had come back to his 
own ! 

Three days later the " Belle Poule " was en route for 
France. One incident alone marked her return. A pass- 
ing vessel brought the news that war had been declared be- 
tween France and England. The Prince de Joinville was 
niilv twentv-two, a hot-headed vouth, and the news of war 
immediately convinced him that England had her fleet out 
watching for him, ready to carry oflF Napoleon again. He 
rose to the height of his fears. The elegant furnishings of 
the saloons of his vessel were torn out and thrown over- 


board to make room for the batteries: the men were made 
ready for fighting, and everybody on board was compelled 
to take an oath to sink the vessel before allowing the re- 
mains to be taken. This done, the " Belle Poule '' went 
her way peacefully to Cherbourg, where she arrived on 
November 30th, forty-three days after leavving St. Helena. 

The town of Cherbourg owes much to Napoleon — her 
splendid harbors, and great tracts of land rescued from the 
sea — and she honored the return of his remains with every 
pomp. Even the poor of the town were made to rejoice by 
lavish gifts in the emperor's honor; and one of the chief 
squares — one he had redeemed from the sea — became the 
Place Napoleon. 

The vessels lay eight days at Cherbourg, for the arrival 
had been a fortnight earlier than was anticipated, and noth- 
ing was ready for the celebration at Paris: but the time 
was none too long for the thousands who flocked in in- 
terminable processions to the vessels. When the vessels left 
for Havre, Cherbourg was so excited that she did what 
must have seemed to the nervous inhabitants an extrava- 
gance, even in Napoleon's honor, she fired a thousand guns ! 

The passage of the flotilla from Cherbourg to Paris took 
seven days. At almost every town and hamlet elaborate 
demonstrations were made. At Havre and Rouen they 
were especially magnificent. 

A striking feature of the river cortege was the ceremonies 
at the various bridges under w^iich the vessels passed. The 
most elaborate of these was at Rouen, where the central 
arch of the suspension bridge had been formed into an im- 
mense arch of triumph. The decorations were the ex- 
clusive work of wounded legionary officers and soldiers of 
the Empire. When the vessel bearing the coffin passed 
under, the veterans showered down upon it wreaths of 
flowers and branches of laurel. 


These elaborate and grandiose ceremonies were not, how- 
ever, the really touching feature of the passage. The hill- 
sides and river-banks were crowded with people from all 
the surrounding country, who sometimes even pressed into 
the river in order better to see the vessels. Those on the 
flotilla saw aged peasants firing salutes with ancient mus- 
kets, old men kneeling with uncovered heads on the sod, 
and others, their heads in their hands weeping — ^these men 
were veterans of the Empire paying homage to the passage 
of their hero. 

It was on the afternoon of December 14th, just as the sun 
was setting radiantly behind Mt. Valerian, that the flotilla 
reached Courbevoie, a few miles from Paris, where Napo- 
leon's body was first to touch French soil. The bridge at 
Courbevoie, the islands of Neuilly, the hills which rise from 
the Seine, were crowded, far as the eye could reach, with 
a throng drawn from the entire country around. 

The flotilla as it approached was a brilliant sight. At the 
head was the " Dorade,'* a cross at her prow, and, behind, 
the coffin. It was draped in purple velvet, surrounded by 
flags and garlands of oak and cypress, and surmounted by a 
canopy of black velvet ornamented with silver and masses of 
floating black plumes. Between cross and coffin stood the 
Prince de Joinville in full uniform, and behind him Gen- 
erals Bert rand and Gourgaud and the Abbe Coquereau, 
almoner of the expedition. The vessels following the 
*• Dorade '' bore the crews of the ** Belle Poule '' and the 
" Favorite " and the military bands. A magnificent fu- 
neral boat, on whose deck there was a temple of bronzed 
wood, hung with splendid draperies of purple and gold, 
brought up the official procession. Behind followed num- 
berless craft of all descriptions. Majestic funeral marches 
and salvos of artillery accompanied the advance. 

At Courbevoie the flotilla anchored. Notwithstanding 


the intense cold, thousands of people camped all night on 
the hill-sides and shores, their bivouac fires illuminating the 

Only those who have seen Paris on the day of a great 
fete or ceremony can picture to themselves the 15th of De- 
cember, 1840. The day was intensely cold, eight degrees 
below the freezing point, but at five o'clock in the morning, 
when the drums began beating, and the guns booming, the 
populace poured forth, taking up their positions along the 
line of the expected procession. This line was fully three 
miles in length, and ran from Courbevoie to the Arc de 
Triomphe by way of Neuilly, thence down the Champs Ely- 
sees, across the Place and Bridge de la Concorde, and along 
the qxiai to the Esplanade des Invalides. From one end to 
the other it was packed on either side a hundred deep, before 
nine o'clock. The journals of the day compute the number 
of visitors expected in Paris as about half a million. Inside 
and outside of the Hotel des Invalides alone, thirty-six thou- 
sand places were given to the Minister of the Interior, and 
that did not cover one-tenth of the requests he received. It 
is certain that nearly a million persons saw the entry of Na- 
poleon's remains. The people hung from the trees, crowded 
the roofs, stood on ladders of every description, filled the 
windows, and literally swarmed over the walks and gjass 
plots. A brisk business went on in elevated positions. A 
ladder rung cost five francs ($1.00) ; the man who had a 
cart across which he had laid boards, rented standing-room 
at from five to ten francs. As for windows and balconies — 
they sold for fabulous prices, in spite of the fact that the 
placard fenetres ct balcons a loner appeared in almost every 
house from Neuilly to the Invalides, even in many a mag- 
nificent hotel of the Champs Elysees. Fifty francs ($10.00) 
was the price of the meanest window : a good one cost one 
hundred francs ($20.00) ; three thousand francs ($600.00) 


were paid for good balconies. One speculator rented a va- 
cant house for the day for five tinmsand francs ($i,ooo.ooj, 
and made money on his investment. 

The crowd made every pre|>aration to keep warm ; some 
of tliem carried foot-stoves filled with live coals, others little 
hand-warmers. At intervals along the procession great 
masses of the spectators danced to keep up their circulation. 
Vendors of all sorts of articles did a thriving business. 
Every article was, of course. Napoleonized ; one even bought 
gauifrctics and Madeleines cut out in the shajie of Napo- 
leons. There were t>adges of every form — im|)erial eagles, 
bees, crowns, even the petit chafeau. Many pamphlets in 
prose and verse had a great sale, especially those of Casimir 
Delavigne, Victor Hugo, and Barthelemy; though all these 
stately odes were far outstripped by one song, thousands 
upon thousands of copies ()f which were sold. It ran : 

'■ PreniitT capitaint ilii inonile 

Depuis le sii'ge de Toulon. 
Tant 'ur la terrc iiiic siir I'onde 

Tout rcdouiail Napoleon, 

Dii Nil ail nord dp la Taniise ! 

Devant lui rennemi fuyait. 
Avatit de combatlre, il tremblail 

Voyant sia redingote grise." 

The cortege which ha<l brought this crowd together was 
magnificent in the extreme. A brilliant military display 
formed the first portion : gendarmerie, municipal guards, 
officers, infantry, cavalry, artillery, cadets from the im- 
portant schools, national guards. But this had little effect 
on the crowd. The genuine interest began when Marengo, 
Napoleon's famous battle-horse, appeared — it was not Mar- 
engo, but it looked like him. which for spectacular purposes 
was just as welt; and the saddle and bridle were genuine. 
The defile now became e.xciting. The commission of St. 


Helena appeared in carriages, then the Marshals of France, 
the Prince de Joinville, the crews of the vessels which had 
been to St. Helena, finally the funeral car, a magnificent 
creation over thirty feet high, its design and ornaments sym- 
bolic. Sixteen black horses in splendid trappings drew the 
car, whose funeral pall was held by a marshal and an admiral 
of France, by the Due de Reggio and General Bert rand. 

The passing of the car was everywhere greeted with sin- 
cere emotion, profound reverence. Even the opposition rec- 
ognized the genuineness of the feeling; many of them owned 
to sharing it for one moment of self-forgetfulness, and they 
began to ask themselves, as Lamartine had asked the Cham- 
ber six months before, what they had been thinking of to 
allow the French heart and imagination to be so fired ? Even 
cynical Englishmen who looked on with stern or contemptu- 
ous countenances, said to themselves meditatively that night, 
as they sat by their fire resting, ** Something good must 
have been in this man, something loving and kindly, that has 
kq)t his name so cherished in the popular memory and gained 
him such lasting reverence and affection." 

Following the car came those who had been intimately 
associated with the emperor in his life — his aides-de-camp 
and civil and military officers. Many of them had been with 
him in famous battles; some were at Fontainebleau in 1814, 
others at Malmaison in 181 5. The veterans of the Im- 
l)erial Guard followed; behind them a deputation from 

From Courbevoie to the Hotel des Invalides, one walked 
through a hedge of elaborate decorations — of bees, eagles, 
crowns, N's; of bucklers, banners, and wreaths bearing the 
names of famous victories; of urns blazing with incense; 
of rostral columns; masts bearing trophies of arms and 
clusters of flags; flaming tripods; allegorical statues; tri- 
umphal arches; great banks of seats draped in imperial 


purple and packed with spectators, and phalanges of sol- 

On the top of the Arc de Triomphe was an imposing 
apotheosis of Napoleon. Each side of the Pont de la Con- 
corde was adorned with huge statues. On the Esplanade 
des Invalides the car passed between an avenue of thirty- 
two statues of great French kings, heroes, and heroines — 
Charles Martel, Charlemagne, Clovis, Bayard, Jeanne d'Arc. 
Latour d'Auvergne. Ney. The chivalry and valor of 
France welcomed Napoleon home. Oddly enough, this 
hedge of statues ended in one of Napoleon himself; the in- 
congruity off the arrangements struck even the gamins. 
" Tiens,'' cried one urchin, '* voila comme Tempertur fait 
la queue a lui-meme.** (** Hello, see there how the em- 
peror brings up his own procession.'') 

The procession passed quietly from one end to the other 
of the route, to the great relief of the authorities. Diffi- 
culty was anticipated from several sources : from the An- 
glophobes, the Revolutionists, the Legitimists, the Bona- 
partists, and the great mass of dissatisfied, who, no matter 
what form of rule they are under, are always against the 
government. The greatest fear seems to have been on the 
part of the English. Thackeray, who was in town at the 
time, gives an amusing picture of his own nervousness on 
the morning of the 1 5th. 

" Did the French nation, or did they not, intend to offer up some 
of us English over the imperial grave? And were the games to be con- 
cluded by a massacre? It was said in the newspapers that Lord 
Granville had despatched circulars to all the English residents in 
Paris, heg'ging them to keep .their homes. The French journals 
announced this news, and warned us charitably of the fate intended 
for us. Had Lord Granville written? Certainly not to me. Or had 
he written to all except mcT And was / the victim — the doomed one? 
to be seized directly I showed my face in the Champs Elysees, and 
torn in pieces by French patriotism to the frantic chonis of the 


Marseillaise? Depend on it, Madame, that high and low in this city 
on Tuesday were not .altogether at their ease, and that the bravest 
felt no small tremor. And be sure of this, that as his Majesty Louis 
Philippe took his nightcap off his royal head that morning, he prayed 
heartily that he might at night put it on in safety." 

Fortunately Thackeray's courage conquered, and so we 
have the entertaining ** Second Funeral of Napoleon/' by 
** Michael Angelo Titmarsh/' 

In spite of all forebodings, the hostile displays were noth- 
ing more than occasional cries of "A bas les Anglais," a 
few attempts to promenade the tricolor flag and drown Le 
Premier Capitaine du Monde by the Marseillaise, and a 
strong indignation when it was learned that the represent- 
atives of the allies had refused to be present at the final 

Most of the observers of the funeral attributed the good 
order of the crowd to the cold. A correspondent of the 
** National Intelligence " of that date says : 

** If this business had fallen in the month of June or July, with all 
its excitements, spontaneous and elaborate, I should have deemed a 
sanguinary struggle between the government and the mob certain or 
highly probable. The present military array might answer for an 
approaching army of Cossacks. Forty or fifty thousand troops remain 
in the barracks within and camps without, besides the regular soldiery 
and National Guards in the field, ready to act against the domestic 

" Providentially the cold increased to the utmost keenness ; the genial 
currents of the insurrectionary and revolutionary soul were frozen." 

The climax of the pageant was in the temple of the In- 
valides. The spacious church was draped in the most mag- 
nificent and lavish fashion, and adorned with a perfect be- 
wilderment of imperial emblems. The light was shut out 
by hangings of violet velvet; tripods blazing with colored 
flames, and thousands upon thousands of waxen candles 
in brilliant candelabra lighted the temple. Under the dome, 


in the place of the altar, stood the catafalque which was to 
receive the coffin. 

From early in the morning the galleries, choir, and tri- 
bunes of the Invalides were packed by a distinguished 
company. There were the Deputies and Senators — neither 
of which had been represented in the cortege — the judicial 
and educational bodies, the officers of army and navy, the 
ambassadors and representatives of foreign governments, 
the king, and the court. 

But none of these dignitaries were of more than passing 
interest that day. The centre of attention, until the coffin 
entered, was the few old soldiers of the Empire to be seen 
in the company; most prominent of these was Marshal 
Moncey, the decrepit governor of the Invalides. 

It was two o'clock in the afternoon when the Archbishop 
of Paris, preceded by a splendid cross-bearer, and followed 
by sixteen incense boys and long rows of white-clad priests, 
left the church to meet the procession. They returned soon. 
Following them were the Prince de Joinville and a select 
few from the grand cortege without, attending Napoleon's 

As it passed, the great assemblage was swayed by an ex- 
traordinarv emotion. There is no one of those who have 
described the day who does not speak of the sudden, in- 
tense agitation which thrilled the company, whether he 
refers to it half -humorously as Thackeray, who told how 
'* everybody's heart was thumping as hard as possible," or 
cries with Victor Hugo : 

Sire: En ce nionent-la, vouz aurez pour royaume, 
Tous les fronts, tous les cceurs qui battront sous le ciel, 

Lcs nations feront asseoir votre fantome, 
Au trone universe!." 

The king descended from his throne and advanced to 
meet the cortege, '* Sire," said the Prince de Joinville, " I 


present to you the body of Napoleon, which, in accordance 
with your commands, I have brought back to France." 

" I receive it in the name of France/' replied Louis 

Such at least is what the " Moniteur " affirms was said, 
but the ** Moniteur '' is an official journal whose business 
is, not to tell what really happens, but what the government 
would prefer to have happen. The Prince de Joinville gives 
a different version : ** The king received the body at the 
entrance to the nave, and there rather a comical scene took 
place. It appears that a little speech which I was to have 
delivered when I met my father, and also the answer he was 
to give me, had been drawn up in council, only the author- 
ities had omitted to inform me concerning it. So when I 
arrived I simply saluted with my sword, and then stood 
aside. I saw, indeed, that this silent salute, followed by re- 
treat, had thrown something out; Init my father after a 
moment's hesitation, improvised some appropriate sentence, 
and the matter was arranged in the * Moniteur.' " 

Beside the king stood an officer, bearing a cushion : on it 
lay the sword of Austerlitz. Marshal Soult handed it to 
the king, who, turning to Bertrand, said : 

" General, I commission you to place the emperor's 
glorious sword on the bier." 

And Bertrand, trembling with emotion, laid the sword 
reverently on his idol's coffin. The great company watched 
the scene in deepest silence. The only sound which broke 
the stillness was the half-stifled sobs of the gray-haired 
soldiers of the Invalides, who stood in places of honor 
near the catafalque. 

The king and the procession returned to their places, and 
then followed a majestic funeral mass. The Requiem of 
Mozart, as rendered that day by all the great singers of 
Paris, is one of the historic musical performances of France. 


The archbishop then sprinkled the coffin with holy water, 
the king taking the brush from him for the same sacred 

The funeral was over. Napoleon lay at last " on the 
banks of the Seine, among the people whom he had so 
loved.*' For eight days after the ceremony the church re- 
mained open to the public, and in spite of the terrible cold 
thousands stood from morning until night waiting patiently 
their turn to enter. After hours of waiting, they frequently 
were sent away, only to come back earlier the next day 
In this company were numbers of veterans of the imperial 
army who had made the journey to Paris from distant 
parts of the kingdom. In the delegation from Belgium 
were many who had walked part of the way, not being able 
to pay full coach fare. 

Banquets and dinners followed the funeral. At one of 
these, a ** sacred toast to the immortal memory " was drunk 
kneeling. In a dozen theatres of Paris the translation of 
the remains was dramatized. At the Porte Saint-Martin, 
the actor who took the part of Sir Hudson Lowe had a 
season of terror, he being in constant danger of violence 
from the wrought-up audience. 

The advertising columns of the newspapers of the day 
blazed for weeks with announcements of Napoleonized 
articles; the holiday gifts prepared for the booths of the 
boulevards and squares, and for the magnificent shops of the 
Palais Royal and the fashionable streets, whatever their 
nature — to eat, to wear, to look at — were made up as me- 
morials. Paris seemed to be Napoleon-mad. 

In the February following the funeral, the coffin of Na- 
poleon was transferred from the catafalque in the centre of 
the church to a chapelle ardent e in the basement at one 
side. The chapel was richly draped in silk and gold, and 
hung with trophies. On the coffin lay the imperial crown. 



the emperor's sword, and the hat which he had worn at 
Eylau, and which he had given to Gros when he ordered the 
battle of Eylau painted. Over the coffin waved the flags 
taken at Austerlitz. 

Here Napoleon's body lay until the mausoleum was fin- 
ished. This magnificent structure was designed by Vis- 
conti, the eminent architect, who had planned the entire 
decorations of the isth of December. Visconti utterly ig- 
nored the appropriations in executing the monument, order- 
ing what he wanted, regardless of its cost. For the marble 
from which Pradier made the twelve colossal figures around 
the tomb, he sent to Carrara ; the porphyry which was used 
to inclose the coffin, he obtained in Finland. 

In this magnificent sepulchre Napoleon still sleeps. Du- 
roc and Bertrand lie on either side of the entrance to the 
chamber, guarding him in death as in life ; and to the right 
and left of the entrance to the church are the tombs of his 
brothers Jerome and Joseph. On the stones about him are 
inscribed the names he made glorious ! over him are draped 
scores of trophies; attending him are the veterans of the 

** Qu'il dorme en paix sous cette voute ! 
Cest un casque bien fait, sans doute, 
Pour cette tcte de geant." 

■ by the sculptor Vit: 

I fur the luwn of St. I'ie 

r of JOKphmc. This stai 

The plaster cast is in I 


Life oi^ Josephine 




THE proudest monument in the Island of Martinique, in 
the French West Indies, so any inhabitant will 
tell vou, is the statue of a woman in the town of 
St. Pierre. The woman thus honored is Josephine, once 
Empress of the French People, who, so the legend on 
the pedestal of the statue relates was born at the hamlet of 
Trois Ilets, Martinique, on June 23, 1763. 

If one searches in the legends of the island for an ex- 
planation of the position to which the child of this humble 
spot arose, he will find nothing more serious than the proph- 
ecy of an old negress, made to the little girl herself, that 
one day she would be Queen of France. If he looks in the 
chronicles of the island for an explanation, he will find noth- 
ing to indicate that she could ever rise higher than the life 
of an indolent Creole, a life narrowed by poverty and made 
tolerable chiefly by the beauty of the nature about her and 
by her own happy indifference of temperament. 

Joseph Tascher de la Pagerie, the child's father, w^as the 
eldest son of a noble of Blois, France, who went to Marti- 
nic|ue in the first quarter of the eighteenth century chiefly be- 
cause he could not succeed in anything in his own country. 


- ri 

'1 - 




? He did no better in Martinique than he had done in France 

and was only able to start his children in life by dint of 
soliciting favors for them from his well-to-do relatives at 
home. For Joseph he obtained a small military position, 
but the lad was no better at improving his opportunities 
than his father had been and returned to Martinique after a 
few years a lieutenant of marines — without a place. 

When soliciting failed, nothing was left in those days 
for a nobleman who did not relish work but marriage, and 
Joseph succeeded, by help of his friends, in making a very 
good one with Mile. Rose-Claire des Vergers de Sannois, 
whose father was of noble descent and, what was more to 
the point, was prosperous and of good standing in Marti- 
nique. Joseph went to live (mi a charming plantation belong- 
ing to his father-in-law, just back from the sea and near the 
village of Trois Ilets. Soon after this, war with the English 
called him into service as a defender of the French West 
Indies. The war was not long, and for his services he 

' secured a pension of 450 livres (alxnit ninety dollars). It 

|; came none too soon, for a passing hurricane devastated the 

plantation at Trois Ilets in 1766, and drove the family into 
one of the sugar houses to live. M. de la Pagerie was never 
able to repair the damages to his plantation done by the 
storm or build another home for his family. He never, 
indeed, followed any steady employment, but idled his life 
away in gaming, intrigue, and soliciting — always in debt, 

'(_ always in bad odor among honest men — his only asset his 


But to the happiness of little Josephine it mattered very 
little in those days whether her home w^as a sugar-house 
or a palace, her father an honest man or a sycophant. Her 
days were spent under the brilliant skies, in the forests or 
the open fields, chasing birds and butterflies, and gathering 
the gorgeous tropical flowers which to the end of her life 


she passionately loved. Almost her only companions were 
the negroes of the plantations, who gave her willing ad- 
miration and obedience. Untaught, unrestrained, idolized 
by slaves, knowing nothing but the tropical luxury and 
beauty of the nature about her. she developed like the birds 
and the negroes, becoming, it is true, a graceful, beautiful 
little animal, but with hardly more moral sense than they 
and with even less sense of responsibility. 

Josephine was ten years old before it occurred to anybody 
to send her to school. So far her only instruction had 
been what little she had gathered from a mother occupied 
with younger children ; from the priest of Trois Ilets, who, 
it is fair to suppose, must have at least tried to teach her the 
catechism, and from the curious lore and gossip of the 
negroes. At ten, however, she was sent to a convent at 
Fort Royale, w^here she remained some four years. Here 
she was taught such rudimentary knowledge as enabled her 
to read, — if not understand, to write a polite note, to dance, 
— not very well, to sing, and play the guitar a little. It was 
a small equipment, but no doubt as good as most young 
girls of Martinique possessed in that day. Indeed many a 
noble-born maid in France started out with less in the 
eighteenth century, and it was quite as much as one would 
suppose from her position that she would need — more than 
she used indeed, for little Yeyette, as Josephine w^as called, if 
amiable and obedient when she left the convent, was in- 
dolent and vain, loving far better her childish play of dec- 
orating herself with brilliant flowers and watching her own 
image in the clear water of the pools on the plantation, than 
she did books and music ; and the loving flattery of her old 
nurse was dearer to her than any amusement she found in 
the meager society of the island, where she now was to take 
her place and, her parents hoped, help retrieve the bad for- 
tunes of the family by a good marriage. 


The opportunity came quickly. Josephine had been but 
a few months out of the convent when one day her father 
laid before her what must have been a l)ewildering and, one 
would suppose, a terrifying proposition — would she like to 
leave Martinique and go to France, there to marry Alex- 
ander de Beauharnais. The bov was not unknown to her. 
Like herself, he was born in Martinicjue, and though he had 
left there when she was only seven years old and he ten, it 
is not unlikely that she had seen him occasionally at the 
home of her grandmother who cared for him in the absence 
of his father and mother in France. 

The influence which had led the father of Alexander de 
Beauharnais to ask for the hand of a daughter of M. de la 
Pagerie for his son was not altogether creditable. The two 
families had never known each other until 1757, when M. de 
Beauharnais came to Martinique as its governor. The elder 
M. de la Pagerie was not slow in seeking the new govern- 
or's acquaintance and support for his family, for the latter 
was rich and in favor with the king at Versailles. The re- 
lation prospered sufficiently for M. de la Pagerie to secure a 
place in the household of the governor for one of his daugh- 
ters. He could have done nothing better for his family. This 
daughter was not long in gaining an important influence 
over both M. and Mme. de Beauharnais, and in winning as a 
husband M. Renaudin, an excellent man and prosperous. 
This for herself. For her family, she secured so many 
favors from the governor that it became a matter of serious 
criticism and finally, added to other indiscretions, led to a 
divorce between her and M. Renaudin. All this scandal 
did not influence the governor, however, and when, in 1761, 
he left Martinique, on account of the dissatisfaction with 
his administration there, and hurried to France with his 
wife to make his peace at Versailles, Mme. Renaudin went, 
too. There she prospered, buying a home and laying aside 


money. It was M. de Beauharnais's money, people said. 
However this may be, it is certain that she exercised great 
influence over him, that for her he neglected his wife, and 
that after the latter*s death the friendship or liaison con- 
tinued until his death. 

From all this it will be seen that Mme. Renaudin was a 
clever woman, intent on making the most out of the one 
really strong relation she had been able to form in her life. 
She was clever enough to see, when Alexander was brought 
to France after his mother's death, that his love and grati- 
tude would be one of her strongest cards with the father in 
the future. She set to work to win the boy's heart, and she 
succeeded admirably. In his eyes, she took his mother's 
place, and her influence over him was almost unlimited. 

By the time he was seventeen, Alexander de Beauharnais 
was a most attractive youth. He had been well educated in 
the manner of his time, having been, with his elder brother, 
under the care of an excellent tutor for a number of years, 
two of which, at least, were passed in Germany. After 
his brother entered the army, Alexander and his tutor 
joined the household of the Duke de la Rochefoucauld and 
there studied with the latter's nephews. In this aristocratic 
atmosphere he imbibed all the new liberal ideas of the 
day; he learned, at the same time, the graces of the most 
exquisite French society and the philosophy of Rousseau. 
Alexander was seventeen years old when his education was 
pronounced finished, and a search was made for a place for 
him suitable to his birth, his relations, and his ambition. 
Thanks, largely, to the Duke de la Rochefoucauld, he was 
made a lieutenant in the army. 

No sooner was his position in the world fixed, than Mme. 
Renaudin made up her mind that he must marry one of her 
nieces in Martinique. It mattered not at all that Alexander 
had not yet thought of marriage. Mme. Renaudin per-' 


suaded him it would be a good thing — not a difficult task 
for her since at marriage the youth was to come into a much 
larger income than he then enjoyed. Alexander satisfied, 
she soon persuaded his father to write to M. de la Pagerie. 
The letter shows the whole situation : — ** My children," 
wrote M. de Beauharnais, ** each enjoy an annual income of 
40,000 livres (about $8,000). Vou are free to give me 
your daughter to share the fortune of my chevalier. The 
respect and affection he has for Mme. Renaudin make him 
eager to marry one of her nieces. You see that I consent 
freely to his wishes by asking the hand of your second 
daughter, whose age is more suited to his. If your eldest 
daughter (Josephine) had been a few years younger, I 
certainly should have preferred her, as she is pictured quite 
as favorably to me as the other; but my son, who is only 
seventeen and a half, thinks that a young lady of fifteen is 
too near his own age.** 

Now, just before this letter reached Martinique, the second 
daughter of M. de la Pagerie had died of fever. The chance 
was not to be missed, however, and the father hastened to 
write to M. de Beauharnais that he might have either of 
the two daughters remaining ; Josephine or Marie, the latter 
then a child of between eleven and twelve years. From the 
long correspondence which followed, one gathers that it is 
the elders in the transaction who really count. Alexander 
is resigned, little Marie absolutely refuses to leave her 
mother, and Josephine, of whom little is said, seems to be 
willing, even eager for the adventure. The upshot of it 
w^as that, in October, 1779, M. de la Pagerie sailed for 
France with Josephine. He arrived at Brest in November, 
worn out by the passage, and there his sister, Mme. Renau- 
din, came with Alexander to meet them. If the first im- 
pression of his fiancee did not arouse any enthusiasm in 
Alexander, it at least offered no reason for breaking the 


engagement. ** She is not so pretty as I expected/' he wrote 
to his father ; " but I can assure you that the frankness and 
sweetness of her character are beyond anything we have 
been told/' 

From Brest the Httle party travelled together to Paris, 
where the marriage took place on December 12. The 
young pair at once went to live with the Marquis de Beau- 
harnais, and that winter Josephine was introduced into the 
brilliant society of the capital. She seems to have made but 
a poor impression, for in spite of the 20,000 livres that Mme. 
Renaudin had spent on her trousseau, she had after all a 
provincial air which irritated her husband, accustomed as 
he was to the ease and elegance of aristocratic Paris. What 
was worse in his eyes, she seemed to have no desire to im- 
prove herself on the models he laid down. Poor little 
Josephine had no head for the exaggerated sentiment, the 
fine speculations, and the chatter about liberty, nature and 
the social contract which flowed so glibly from every French 
tongue in those days. She loved pretty gowns and jewels 
and childish amusements; above all, she demanded to be 
loved exclusively and passionately by her handsome young 
husband. When he scolded her, she cried, and when he 
devoted himself to brighter women, she was jealous; and so 
before the first six months of their married life was over, 
Josephine was seeing many unhappy hours, and the Vis- 
count gladly left her behind when he was called to his regi- 
ment. Nevertheless, in his absence, he wrote her long 
letters, largely of advice on what she should study, and took 
pains to laugh at her jealousy and her complaints. The 
birth of their first child, in September, 1781, a boy, who re- 
ceived the name of Eugene, did little to restore peace be- 
tween the two. The Viscount continued to spend much time 
away from Paris, either with his regiment or in travel, and 
when at home, he did not always share his pleasures with 


his wife. The tactics with which Josephine met his rest- 
lessness and his indifference were the worst possible to be 
used on a man whose passion was for ideas, for elevated 
sentiments, for bold and brilliant actions — she was amiable 
and indolent as a kitten until a new neglect came, and then 
she gave up to a continuous weeping. 

One reason, no doubt, of the restlessness of Beauharnais 
was his failure to advance in his profession as fast as 
he desired. He had been made a captain, but he wished for 
a regiment; and when late in 1782 a descent of the English 
on Martinique threatened, he enlisted for service there. 
Peace was made between France and England before he had 
an opportunity to distinguish himself, but he remained in 
Martinique some time. He had fallen in love there; and 
unhappily his new mistress had persuaded him that 
Josephine had had love affairs of her own before she left 
Martinique to marry him. There was never any proof of 
the truth of any of the stories she retailed to him ; but Beau- 
harnais was glad to have a reason for deserting his wife, 
and he wrote her a brutal letter, in which he justified his de- 
mand for a divorce by the righteous indignation which had 
seized him when he heard of her follies. The letter reached 
Josephine in the summer of 1783. In the April before, she 
had given birth to a daughter, christened Hortense- Eugenie. 
It was the first word she had received from her husband 
since her confinement. 

Beauharnais reached Paris in October (his mistress had 
preceded him) ; and in spite of the efforts of his family and 
friends, all of whom took Josephine's part, he secured a 
separation. She, however, received from the courts the 
fullest reparation possible, considering the Viscount's means 
— a pension for herself and the children ; the custody of Eu- 
gene, until he was five years old, and permanent possession 
of Hortense. 


Josephine now went to live at the Abbey de Panthe- 
mont, a refuge for women of the French nobility who had 
suffered in one way or another. Here her youth, beauty, 
sweetness of disposition, and her misfortune made her a 
favorite with many a noble dame; and she soon learned in 
this atmosphere more of the ways of aristocratic society than 
she had learned in all her previous married life. 

After nearly a year in the Abbey, Josephine returned to 
her father-in-law, who was living at Fontainebleau. The life 
she here took up pleased her very well. She had an in- 
come for herself and children of something over $2,000 a 
year, she was free, she knew many amusing people, 
she had admirers, many say, lovers, — we should be sur- 
prised more if she had not had them than if she had, it was 
the way of her world. She was devoted to her children, she 
cared for the Marquis de Beauharnais and Mme. Renaudin 
in their illnesses, and she corresponded regularly with her 
husband — whom she never saw — concerning their children. 
In 1788, she broke the monotony of her life by a trip to 
Martinique, taking Hortense with her. She remained some 
two years in the island — a sad two years, for both her father 
and her sister were very ill at the time, and both died soon 
after her return to Paris, in the fall of 1790. 





WHEN Josephine returned to Paris in 1790, she 
found tlie city in full revolution. In the two 
years she had been gone the States Generals had 
met, the Bastile had fallen, the National Assembly had be- 
gun to make France over. In the front of all this activity 
moved her husband, Viscount de Beauharnais. Like his 
patron, the Duke de la Rouchefoucauld, Beauharnais was 
an ardent advocate of liberty and ecjuality. Sent to the 
States General by his friends at Blois, he had joined the 
few noblemen there who in 1789 espoused the cause of the 
Revolution, and soon was one of the leaders of the faction. 
Later he was sent to the National Assembly, where he took 
an active part in framing the constitution. He was a power 
even in the Jacobin Society. 

At this date the revolution was still the fashion among the 
elegant in Paris, and the Viscount really was one of the most 
popular and influential young noblemen in the town. His 
success, the ardor with which he preached the fine theories 
of the day, perhaps a growing realization that his treatment 
of his wife was too baldly inconsistent with his profes- 
sion, softened the Viscount's heart towards Josephine, and 
when she returned he went to see her. A kind of recon- 
ciliation followed. They continued to live apart, but they 
saw each other constantly in society. The Viscount no 
doubt was the more w^ilHng to sustain the relation of a good 



friend and advisor to his wife, when he saw that in the yeacs 
since their separation she had developed into a most charm- 
ing woman of the world, and that her beauty, grace, tact, and 
readiness to oblige had won her a large circle of friends, in- 
cluding many in that aristocratic circle of which he vaunted 
himself on being a member. This good understanding with 
Beauharnais did much for Josephine's peace of mind. It 
was in a way a victory, and her friends congratulated her. 
At the same time any honors which came to the Viscount re- 
flected on her, and she steadily became more noticed. 

In June, 1791, Beauharnais was elected president of the 
Constituent Assembly. A few days later, the King and 
Queen fled to Varennes. As the head of the Assembly, the 
Viscount was the leader of France for the time. It was he 
who sat for one hundred and twenty-six and one-half con- 
secutive hours on the bench during the violent session which 
followed the Kings flight; it was he who questioned the 
captured King, when he was returned, and directed the dis- 
tracted proceedings which followed. Indeed, until the dis- 
solution of the body in September, he was one of the most 
prominent men in France. 

Josephine had her share of his glory, and in these months 
added largely to her circle of acquaintances from the motley 
crowd which the levelling of things had brought together 
in French society. She met many of the aristocrats un- 
known to her until then; but what was vastly more im- 
portant, she made acquaintances among the ** true patriots ", 
those who had been born in the third estate, and who were 
already beginning to consider themselves the only part of 
the population fit to conduct the general regeneration of 
France. In 1792, war breaking out, Beauharnais went to 
the front, where he made a respectable record, which he 
himself reported frequently to the Assembly in glowing 
letters, filled with good advice to that body. He was steadily 


advanced until, in May, 1793, he was made general-in-chief 
of the Army of the North. During all this period Josephine 
was in Paris or the vicinity, and there were few more active 
women there than she. Whether advised by her husband or 
not she had the wit to make the acquaintance of the men 
of each new party as fast as it came into power. Thus, 
when the Girondins were at the helm in 1792, she hastened 
to interview them one by one. to demonstrate to them her 
devotion to the new civism,'to extol the patriotism of her 
husband, General de Beauharnais. The acquaintance made, 
she immediately had a favor to ask — this friend was in 
prison, that one wanted a passport. All through the agitated 
winter of 1792 and 1793 Josephine was busy getting her 
friends out of prison and out of France. She seems to have 
had no fear for herself. As a matter of fact, the men 
who helped her were so convinced of her simple goodness of 
heart that they granted her much which would have been 
denied a more intelligent woman, and they did not question 
her loyalty. Was she not, too, the wife of General de 
Beauharnais? That fact did not, however, hold value for 
many months. Beauharnais's conduct came into question 
before the Assembly; he resigned, offering to go into the 
line. The privilege was denied him, and he was retired from 
the army. He went at once to his family home near Blois, 
and threw himself actively into the work of the municipality 
and of the Jacobins. Josephine, warned of possible danger 
from her husband's downfall and fearing the new law 
against the suspected, decided to leave Paris. She rented, 
in the winter, a little house at Croissy, not far out of the 
city, and near many of her friends, and there lived as quietly 
as she could. One method that she took of showing her de- 
votion to democratic principles was to bind Eugene, who 
had been in school for several years, as an apprentice to a 


carpenter; and it is said that Hortense was placed with a 
dressmaker to learn the trade. 

The Viscount escaped arrest until the spring of 1794; 
then the committee of Public Safety remembered him. 
There seems to have been no reason for his arrest other than 
that he was a noble — certainly no man in France had sur- 
passed him in vehement republicanism or had been more 
fertile in schemes for saving the country. He was taken 
immediately to Paris, and confined in the prison of les 
Carmes. A month later, Josephine followed him. Her 
activity for her friends had continued after the retirement 
of her husband and the eflforts she began at once to make to 
save him when he was arrested, caused a virtuous patriot 
to suggest anonymously to the authorities that she too 
ought to be looked after. She was promptly arrested. 

For three months husband and wife lived side by side in 
that awful prison, the walls of which still bore the red im- 
prints made in the September massacre, and in garden of 
which blood still oozed, it was believed, from the roots of the 
tree where murdered men had been stacked up by the score. 
With them were confined men from every rank of life, 
princes, merchants, sailors, chimney-sweeps, along with 
women and children. Almost daily a group was called to 
die, but their places were quickly filled. The awful tragedy 
of their lot drew Josephine and her husband no closer to- 
gether. It is a terrible comment on the times that no one 
thought it strange that Beauharnais should have paid court 
here at the gate of death to a beautiful woman, a prisoner 
like himself, or that Josephine should have been so intimate 
with General Hoche, also a prisoner, that history has made a 
record of the fact. 

Many eflforts were made to save the Viscount and his 
wife, chiefly under their direction, for they were allowed 


to see their friends, and also their children. It is quite 
possible that certain petitions in their favor which have 
been found in the French archives, bearing the names of 
Eugene and Hortense, were dictated l)v the Viscount him- 
self. But every effort was useless, and on July 21 Beauhar- 
nais was taken to the Conciergerie : the next day he was 
tried; the next guillotined. To the end he was brave and 
self-controlled. In his final words to Josephine, he even 
charged his death to the plots of the aristocrats, upholding 
the republic even as it struck him. 

None of the Viscount de Beauharnais's courage was 
shared by Josephine in her imprisonment. It is true that the 
majority of the women who suffered death in the French 
Revolution faced it bravely. Jose])liine was not of their 
blood. From the beginning of her imprisonment, she wept 
continually before everybody, and her favorite occupation 
was reading her fortune with cards ; and yet cowardly as 
she was, no one was better loved. There was reason enough 
for this. No one was kinder, no one more willing to do a 
service, no one had been more active for others than she, 
when at liberty. All the goodwill of the prison came out in 
full when, on August 6, less than a fortnight after her hus- 
band's death, she was set free. There was as general re- 
joicing as there would have 1 een over the release of a child. 

It is not certain through whose influence Josephine ob- 
tained her freedom. Mme. Tallien has generally been 
credited with securing it, but Masson in his delving 
has found dates which make it improbable that the legend 
current can be true. According to this, Mme. Tallien (then 
Mme. de Fontenay) and Josephine were fellow-prisoners, 
and it was at les Carmes that their friendship began. 
However, the prison records show that Mme. Tallien was 
never confined at les Carmes, but at la Petite Force; so 


that a part at least of the legend is impossible. That she 
may have interested herself in Josephine's behalf is quite 
possible, even probable. She may have known Mme. de 
Beauharnais before her imprisonment. It is well known 
that, as soon as she received her own freedom she became an 
ardent advocate of that clemency which was made possible 
by the fall of Robespierre on the ninth Thermidor and that 
she rescued many persons. She may very well have in- 
cluded Josephine among the first of those she sought to 
save. Her task in this case would not have been difficult, 
for Josephine was know-n to most of the members of the 
Terrorist Government and was probably on terms of in- 
timacy with some of them. At all events, Josephine was set 
free on August 6, and she immediately went to Croissy to 
pass the autumn. 

The problems which now confronted Josephine were se- 
rious enough for the most practical and resourceful of 
women. The chaos in French business affairs made it very 
difficult for her to get her hand on money coming to her. 
Her husband's property was tied up by his death so that 
she could realize nothing from it, and the value of what 
she did secure of her income must have been sadly reduced 
by the general dei)reciation which had resulted from the 
Reign of Terror and from the war, and by the exorbitant 
l)rices of even the commonest necessaries of life — bread at 
this time was over twenty francs a pound. Her situation 
was still more difficult because the personal property of her-, 
self, her children, and husband was all in the hands of the 
authorities. She had no linen, furniture, silver, clothing, 
nothing needful in her daily life. To keep house in thesim- 
l)lest way, she had to beg and borrow, and it w^as many 
months before she was able to secure her own articles of 
clothing and her household furniture. 


With two children to care for and with a town apartment 
and a country cottage on her hands, she was in a very dif- 
ficult position. 

That Josephine was able to keep her homes, care for her 
children, and retain her position in the society of the Direc- 
tory was due to the friendship and protection of two men, 
Hoche and Barras. Hoche had been liberated from les 
Carmes before Josephine, and put in charge of an army, and 
he at once took Eugene on his staff, thus freeing Josephine's 
mind of that care. For a few months she managed by 
diligent borrowing and mortgaging to keep things going. 
In all of her efforts to re])air her fortune and secure to her 
children the estate of Beauharnais, she enlisted her friends, 
especially Mme. Tallien, who just then was at the height 
of her power. The two l)ecanie very intimate, and the Vis- 
countess de Beauharnais was soon one of the women 
oftenest seen at the functions given by the members of the 
Directory as well as at all the more intimate gatherings of 
that society. She became as great a favorite among the dis- 
sipated and prodigal company as she had been among the 
aristocratic ladies of the Abbev de Panthemont or in the 
motley company at les Carmes. It was to be expected that 
she could not long be an intimate of Mme. Tallien's salon 
without finding a protector. She found him in Barras, a 
member of the Directory, its most influential member in 
fact, a prince of corruption, but a man of elegance, and 

It is probable that the liaison with Barras began in 1795, 
for in August of that year Josephine took a little house in 
Paris, furnishing it largely from the apartment in town 
which she had kept so long. She put Hortense in Mme. 
Campan*s school, and taking Eugene from Hoche sent him 
to college. She entertained constantly in her new home, 
and once a week at least received Barras and his friends at 


her country place at Croissy. It was an open secret that the 
money for all this was supplied by Barras. 

Although Barras was himself notoriously corrupt, he was 
a man of elegant and highly cultivated tastes, and he always 
made strenuous efforts to keep his inner circle exclusive. He 
wished only persons of wit, elegance, and ease about him, 
when he was at leisure, and as a rule he allowed no others. 
Now and then, however, the necessities of politics 
brought into his house a man unused either to its polite re- 
finements or its elegant dissipations. Such a man was ad- 
mitted in the fall of 1795 — a young Corsican, a member 
of the army who had distinguished himself at the siege of 
Toulon, and who had recently put Barras and the whole 
government, in fact, under obligations. The man's name 
was Bonaparte — Napoleon Bonaparte. He had come to 
Paris in the spring of 1795, under orders to join the West- 
ern Army, but had fallen into disgrace because he refused 
to obey. He succeeded, however, through Barras, who had 
known him at Toulon, in making an impression at the War 
Office. He was more than an ordinary man, the authorities 
who listened to his talk and examined his plans of campaign 
said. A chance came in October to try his metal as a com- 
manding officer. The sections of Paris, dissatisfied with 
the Convention, had planned an attack for a certain night. 
The Committee of Defence asked Bonaparte to take com- 
mand of the guard which was to defend the Tuileries, where 
the Convention sat. The result was a quick and eflfectual 
repulse of the attack of the sections, and Bonaparte was 
rewarded the next day by being made a general-of-division. 

One of the first acts to follow the attack on the Con- 
vention was a law ordering that all citizens should be cHs- 
armed. Now, Josephine had in her apartment the sword 
of General de Beauharnais, and in ol>edience to the new law 
she at once carried it to the proper authority. Eugene, 


knowing lier intention, liastened tliere too, and passionately 
protested against his father's sword being given up. He 
would die first, he declared, with boyish vehemence. His 
youth (he was but fourteen), his genuine emotion touched 
the commissioner, who hesitated and finally said that 
Eugene might go. to the general in charge of the section, 
the newly made General Bonaparte, and present his petition. 
The boy hastened to the General, and with shining eyes and 
trembling lips, begged that his father's sword might be re- 
turned. Bonaparte, moved by the lad's earnestness and 
agitation, ordered that his request be granted. Mme. de 
Beauharnais, on hearing the story from Eugene, went 
to the General's office to thank him. The interview ended 
by her inviting him to call upon her. It is probable that 
Barras had felt it wise to admit Bonaparte to his inner circle 
at about this time, and before long the young general was 
on good terms with the entire society. 

At the time when Bona])arte began to frecjuent the houses 
of Barras and Josephine lie was, beside most of the men and 
women he met there — certainly beside Barras and Josephine 
— a paragon of virtue. They were disciples of pleasure; he 
of the strenuous life. Up to this time the pleasures of the 
world had never invited him. He had looked on them as a 
young philosopher might, l)cnt on seeing and understanding 
all, but he had never sought them, never been allured by 
them. To make a i)lace and name for himself was all that 
Napoleon Bonaparte, up to this time, had desired. 

Not only did he here, for the first time, come into a circle 
which cultivated pleasure as an end ; but here, for the first 
time, he saw the refinements, the luxury, the delights of 
highly developed society. Beautiful, graceful, and witty 
women he had never known before; he had never set foot 
before in rooms such as these in which he found Josephine, 
Mme. Tallien, and Barras. Dinners like these they oflfered 


him were an amazement. Not only was he astonished by 
his surroundings, he was intoxicated by the attention he 
received. That Josephine, who seemed to him the perfect 
type of the grande dame, should invite him to her home, 
write him flattering little notes when his visits were de- 
layed, admire his courage, listen to his impetuous talk, 
prophesy a great future for him, excited his imagination and 
hope as nothing ever had before. A month had not passed 
before he was paying her an impassioned court. That she 
was six vears his senior and a widow with two children; 
that she had no certain income and was of another rank; 
that he had nothing but his ** cloak and sword '' and was 
hardly started in his career, though with a mother and 
several brothers and sisters looking to him to see them 
through life — these and all other practical considerations 
seem to have been thrust aside. He loved Josephine and 
meant to marry her. All through the fall and winter of 
1795 and 1796 he was at her side pressing his suit. 

But Josephine, though pleased by Napoleon's devotion, 
and certainly encouraging him, hesitated. Certainly mar- 
riage with the young Corsican was a venture at which a 
more courageous woman than she might have hesitated, 
and she, poor woman, had had enough of ventures. Every 
one so far had ended in disaster — her marriage had ended 
in separation, her reconciliation with her husband in his 
death, her property had been lost in a revolution. All she 
asked of life was an opportunity to settle Eugene and Hor- 
tense, and freedom and money enough to be gay. Could she 
expect this from a marriage with Bonaparte? She herself 
analyzed her feelings admirably in a letter to a friend : 

I am urged, my dear, to marry again by the advice of all my friends 
(I may almost say), by the commands of my aunt, and the prayers of 
my children. Why are you not here to help me by your advice on this 
important occasion, and to tell me whether I ought or ought not to con- 


sent to a union, which certainly seems calculated to relieve me from 
the discomfort of my present situation? Your friendship would render 
you clear-sighted to my interests, and a word from you would suffice 
to bring me to a decision. 

Among my visitors you have seen General Bonaparte; he is the man 
who wishes to become a father to the orphans of Alexander de Beau- 
hamais and a husband to his widow. 

" Do you love him? " is naturally your first question. 

My answer is, '* perhaps — No." 

** Do you dislike him? ' 

** No," again ; but the sentiments I entertain towards him are of that 
lukewarm kind which true devotees think worst of all in matters of re- 
ligion. Now, love being a sort of religion, my feelings ought to be very 
different from what they really are. This is the point on which I want 
your advice, which would fix the wavering of my irresolute disposition. 
To come to a decision has always been too much for my Creole inert- 
ness, and I find it easier to obey the wishes of others. 

I admire the General's courage; the extent of his information on every 
subject on which he converses; his shrewd intelligence, which enables 
him to understand the thoughts of others before they are expressed; 
but I confess I am somewhat fearful of that control which he seems 
anxious to exercise over all about him. There is something in his 
scrutinizing glance that cannot be described ; it awes even our directors, 
therefore it may well be supposed to intimidate a woman. He talks of 
his passion for me with a degree of earnestness which renders it im- 
possible to doubt his sincerity; yet this very circumstance, which you 
would suppose likely to please me. is precisely that which has with- 
held me from giving the consent which I have often been on the very 
point of uttering. 

My spring of life is past. Can I, then, hope to preserve for any 
length of time that ardor of affection which in the General amounts 
almost to madness? If his love should cool, as it certainly will, after 
our marriage, will he not reproach me for having prevented him from 
forming a more advantageous connection? What. then, shall I say? 
What shall I do? I may shut myself up and weep. Fine consolation, 
truly ! methinks I hear you say. But unavailing as I know it is, weeping 
is. I assure you, my only consolation whenever my poor heart receives 
a wound. Write me quick, and pray scold me if you think me wrong. 
You know everything is welcome that comes from you. 

Barras assures me if I marry the General, he will get him appointed 
commander-in-chief of the Army of Italy. This favor, though not yet 
granted, occasions some murmuring among Bonaparte's brother officers. 
When speaking to me yesterday on the subject, the General said. — 

" Do they think I cannot get forward without their patronage. One 


day or other they will all be too happy if I grant them mine. I have 
a good sword by my side, which will carry me on." 

What do you think of this self-confidence? Does it not savor of 
excessive vanity? A general of brigade to talk of patronizing the chiefs 
of the Government ? It is very ridiculous ! Yet I know not how it hap- 
pens, his ambitious spirit sometimes wins upon me so far that I am 
almost tempted to believe in the practicability of any project he takes into 
his head — and who can foresee what he may attempt? 

It is probable that, if it had not been for Barras, Josephine 
would not have consented, for many of her friends advised 
against the marriage. Barras urged it, however. He says 
in explanation, with the brutal frankness for which his me- 
moirs are distinguished, that he was '* tired and bored " with 
her. She, no doubt, felt that Barras's protection was un- 
certain and that it would be better for her not to oflfend him. 

At last Barras and Bonaparte between them overcame Jo- 
sephine's indecision, and on March 8, 1796, the marriage 
contract was signed. Barras and Tallien were the two chief 
witnesses at the civil ceremony which took place the next 
day. The religious marriage was dispensed with. 




JUST a week before the marriage of Napoleon with 
Josephine he liad been appointed general-in-chief of 
the Army of Italy, and two days after the marriage 
he left for his command. Josephine remained in Paris, at 
her home in the Rue Chantereine, a little relieved, probably, 
at the dei)arture of her tempestuous lover. Certainly she 
was not sufficiently in love to be able to keep pace with the 
ardent letters which he sent her from every post on his route. 
She read them, to be sure ; even showed them to her friends, 
pronouncing them drolc: but her answers equalled them 
neither in number nor in warmth. Napoleon's suffering 
and reproaches and prayers disturbed her peace. She could 
not love like this. Soon he began to beg her to come to Italy. 
The campaign was well started : he was winning victories. 
There was no reason why she should not join him; or come 
at least to Nice — to Milan. " Vou will come/' he begs, 
** and quick. If you hesitate, if you delay, you w^ill find me 
ill. Fatigue and your absence are too much for me. . . . 
Take wings, come — come ! " 

But Josephine did not want to leave Paris. Particularly 
now when she was reaping the first fruits of her young 
husband's glory in an homage such as she had never known, 
but of which there is no doubt she had dreamed from child- 



hood. Napoleon's victories had driven the Parisians wild 
with joy, and they asked nothing better than to adore the 
wife of the hero of the campaign. Scarcely two months, 
in fact, had passed, after leaving Paris before Napoleon 
sent back, by his brother Joseph and his aide Junot, twenty- 
one flags taken from the enemy. They were received at a 
public session of the Directory. Josephine was present with 
Mme. Tallien, and when the two beautiful women, ac- 
companied by Junot, left the Luxembourg, where the pre- 
sentation had taken place, there was such a demonstration as 
Paris had not seen over a woman in many a day. *' Look," 
they cried, " it is his wnfe ! Isn't she beautiful ! Long live 
General Bonaparte! Long live the Citizeness Bonaparte! 
Long live Notre Dame des Victoires ! " 

New triumphs followed, and to celebrate them there was 
held a grand fete on May 29. There were balls at the Lux- 
embourg, gala nights at the theaters. And everywhere 
Josephine, the wife of the conquering general, was queen. 
And yet almost every night, when she returned from opera 
or ball, she found awaiting her a passionate appeal from 
Bonaparte to come to Italy. Several weeks she put him 
off, she pleaded the hardship of the trip, the dangers and 
discomforts she might have to undergo there, a hundred ex- 
cuses ; and Bonaparte, in reply, only begged the more fiercely 
that she come. 

At last she could resist no longer, but she took no pains 
to conceal her sorrow at going. '' Her chagrin was ex- 
treme, when she saw there was no longer any way of es- 
caping,'' Arnault says, " she thought more of what she 
was going to leave than what she was going to find. She 
would have given the palace at Milan which had been pre- 
pared for her, she would have given all the palaces of the 
world, for her house in the Rue Chantereine. . . . She 
started for Italy from the Luxembourg, where she had 


supped with some friends. Poor woman, she burst into 
tears and sobbed as if she was going to punishment — she 
who was going to reign/' 

It was the end of June before Josephine arrived in Milan. 
The palace which awaited her was the princely home of the 
Duke de Serbelloni ; — the society the choicest of Italy. She 
at once found herself literally living like a princess. Un- 
happily for her, however, there was no opportunity to re- 
main long quietly at Milan and enjoy the pleasures open to 
her. Bonaparte was in active campaign — unable to stay 
but a couple of days after her arrival, and he soon began to 
beg that she join him in the field. At the end of July, she 
did go to Brescia, where she experienced a series of ex- 
citing adventures. The Austrians were pressing close on 
the French^-closer than Napoleon realized; twice he and 
she narrowly escaped capture together ; once she was under 
fire. Finally Bonaparte was obliged to send her, by way of 
Bologne and Ferrara to Lucciues, a journey that she made 
in safety, but in tears. 

Henceforth Josephine had an excellent reason for not 
joining her husband in the field. And Napoleon did not ask 
her to do so. All he asked now was letters, letters, letters. 
" Your health and your face are never out of my mind. I 
cannot be at peace until your letters are received. I wait 
them impatiently. You cannot conceive my unrest.*' And 
again, ** I do not love you at all ; on the contrary, I detest 
you. You are a wretched, awkward, stupid little thing. 
You do not write me any more at all ; you do not love your 
husband. , You know the pleasure that your letters give me, 
and yet write me not more than six lines and that by chance. 
What are you doing all day long, Madame ? But seriously, I 
am very much disturbed, my dear, at not hearing from you. 
Write me four pages quickly of those kind of things which 
fill my heart with pleasure." A few days later he writes. 


" No letters from you. Truly that disturbs me. I am told 
you are well and that you have even been to Lake Como. 
I look impatiently every day for the courier who will bring 
me news of you." And again, ** I write you very often, my 
dear, and you write me so rarely." And so it went on 
through the entire summer and fall of 1796. While she re- 
ceived at Milan the honors due the wife of a conqueror 
who held the fate of states in his hands, he in the field ex- 
hausted himself in a frenzied struggle for victory — not vic- 
tory for himself, so he told Josephine, and so for a time, per- 
haps, he persuaded himself; but victory because it pleased 
her that he win it ; honor because she set store by it ; other- 
w^ise, said he, " I should leave all to throw myself at your 

All this impetuous passion wearied Josephine more and 
more. No response was awakened in her heart. That she 
was proud of his love, there is no doubt. She told every- 
body of his devotion, as well she might : it was her passport 
to power. But she could not answer it in kind, and she 
found excuses for her neglect in her health, which was not 
good at this time, and in the social requirements of her 
brilliant and conspicuous position, and frequently, too, in 
the fact that the life at Milan, gay as it was, did not please 
her. She was homesick for Paris. " Monsieur de Serbel- 
loni will tell you, my dear aunt," she wrote early in Septem- 
ber, ** how I have been received in Italy, feted wherever I 
have gone, all the princes of Italy entertaining me, even 
the Grand Duke of Tuscany. Ah, well! I would rather 
be a simple private individual in France; I do not like the 
honors of this country, I am bored to death. It is true that 
my health does much to make me sad ; I am not well at all. 
If happiness could bring health, I ought to be well. I 
have the kindest husband that one could possibly find; I 
have not time to want anything; my will is his; he is on his 

By J. B. Isabcy. {CDllecIion of M. Edrnond Taigny.) Thi* portrait in 
;rayDn, liEliIly louchcd with color, nas excciilcd at Klalmaiton, probably in Hie 
rovm oF Ibc year 173S. ll » very littte known. Isahey, whose {xncil was 

1 walk in the jiark. This skctrh waa given lo M. Taitiny by Iiabey him- 
lelf.— A. Tt. 



knees before me all day long, as if I were a divinity. One 
could not have a better husband. M. de Serbelloni will 
tell you how much I am loved ; he writes often to my chil- 
dren and is verv fond of them.'' 

Not only did Josephine neglect to write to this " best 
husband in the world ", as she herself called Bonaparte, but 
she spent many hours at Milan in conspicuous flirtations 
with young officers who were glad enough to pay her court. 
Vague rumors of these flirtations came to Napoleon's ears, 
no doubt, though it is certain he thought little of them. 
There are references in his letters which might be attribu- 
ted to jealousy, but it is clear that his confidence in Joseph- 
ine at this time was such that a denial from her, an ag- 
grieved look, a tear of reproach, made him sue for pardon 
and forget his fears. 

Aside from her carelessness about writing to him, the 
gravest complaint that he had against her was her willing- 
ness to receive valuable gifts. The treasures of Italy were 
open to the French, and Bonaparte was sending quantities 
of rare art objects to Paris; but he declared it highly im- 
proper that any of these things or any private gifts should 
go to him or his suite. Josephine, however, had no 
scruples about gifts, and accepted gladly the jewels, pictures, 
and bibelots which were sent her. More than one scene 
resulted from this indiscretion, but it always ended in her 
keeping the treasure. She learned before she had been long 
in Italy not to tell the General what had been given her, or 
if he accused her of receiving gifts, to deny it. 

But unhappy as Josephine made Bonaparte in his absence 
by her neglect and her flirtations, she more than compen- 
sated for it by her amiability when he returned. He had 
reason soon, too, to see that by her tact she did much to 
help his cause in Italy. She was the embodiment of grace 
and cheerfulness, she was familiar with the ways of good 


society, she had tact with the republican element of the 
country, which prided itself on its ideals and patriotism, and 
she appeased the nobles, who felt that she was one of them. 
Napoleon had reason to say of Josephine's influence in Italy 
what he said later of her influence in Paris — that without it, 
he could never have accomplished what he did. Her value 
in his plans was particularly evident in the spring and 
summer of 1797, which they passed together, partly at the 
palace of Serbelloni and partly at the chateau of Monte- 
bello. Their life at this time was rather that of two 
crowned heads than that of a general of an army and his 
wife. They lived in the greatest state, protected by strict 
etiquette and surrounded by the officers of the army of 
Italy and representatives from Austria and the Italian 
states. Audiences with the General were daily sought by 
the greatest men of Italy. In all this pageant of power 
Josephine moved as naturally and easily as if she had been 
born to it. On every side she won friends ; no one came to 
the chateau who did not go away to praise her good taste, 
her simplicity, her anxiety to please. She never interfered 
in politics either, they said, though she was ever willing to 
help a friend in securing the General's favor; and all this 
praise was deserved. Josephine's good-will was bom of a 
kind heart. It was not merely the complacency of indolence ; 
she had no malice, she felt kindly toward the whole world, 
she had all her life been willing to exhaust every resource in 
her power for her friends. She was willing to do so now, 
and she remained of this disposition to the end of her life. 
Such a character makes a man or woman loved in any age, 
in any society, whatever his faults. It made Josephine loved 
particularly in her age and her society, where genuine kind- 
ness was rare and where her peculiar faults — vices, perhaps 
one should say — w^ere readily overlooked, particularly if 
they were handled discreetly. 


The fall of 1797, Napoleon passed in negotiations with 
Austria. For a time Josephine was with him. Then rest- 
less and eager to see Italy, she left him in October and went 
to Venice, where a splendid reception was given her. From 
there she travelled as her fancy dictated in Northern Italy. 
Everywhere she went she was received royally, and loaded 
with gifts. She did not reach Paris until the first of Jan- 
uary, 1798, nearly a month after Napoleon. 

She came back to find her husband the most talked of 
man in Europe. She found, too, that her return was eagerly 
looked for because the General absolutely refused to be 
lionized — even to appear at public functions, without her. 
Her coming was thus the signal for a round of gaieties, 
where, it must be confessed, Bonaparte played rather the 
part of a bear. He would not leave Josephine's side; he 
wanted to talk with her alone, and he openly declared that 
, he would rather stay at home with her than go to the most 
brilliant reception Paris could offer. ** I love my wife/' he 
said seriously to those who chaffed him or remonstrated. 
With all his dreams of ambition, it is certain that she filled 
his life as completely now as she had nearly two years before, 
when he married her. As for Josephine herself, she seems to 
have been completely satisfied now that she was in Paris. 
She was the centre of an admiring circle; she was loaded 
daily with presents, not only from cities and statesmen, but 
from shop-keepers and manufacturers, eager to have her ap- 
proval, to use her name. Not since her marriage had she 
been so contented. 

This satisfactory state of affairs was interrupted in May, 
when Bonaparte sailed for Eg>'pt. Josephine went to 
Toulon to see him off, promising that she would soon follow 
him, and then retired to the springs at Plombieres for a 
season. It was fall before she returned to Paris. When she 
did return, it was to plunge into a round of frivolity and 


extravagance. The most conspicuous of her indiscretions 
was the attentions she accepted from a young man — Hip- 
pohle Charles — a former adjutant to one of Xapoleon's 
generals. She had known him l)efore she went to Italy; 
indeed he had \>een in her party when she left for Milan in 
1796. At Milan he had paid her so assiduous court and 
had l^een so encouraged that the news came to Xapoleon's 
ears, and Charles was suddenly dismissed from the service. 
He had found a j)lace in Paris — through Josej)hine's in- 
fluence, the gossips said. At all events, this young man 
re-appeared now that Bonaparte was in Egypt, and became 
a constant visitor at her house: and when, the summer fol- 
lowing, she bought Malmaison and took possession. Charles 
was her first guest. ** Vou had better get a divorce from 
Bonaparte and marry Charles," some of her plain-speaking 
friends told her. 

When people as little scrupulous as Josephine herself re- . 
proved her, it can be imagined what the effect would be on 
the Bonaparte family, most of whom were now established 
in or near Paris. They had never cared for Josephine, and 
never had had much to do with her. Lucien and Joseph 
Avere the onlv members of the family who had seen her be- 
fore her marriage to Xai)oleon, and to all of them the mar- 
riage came as a shock, Bonaparte not having announced it 
even to his mr)ther. They looked upon her as an interloper 
— one who might deprive them of some of the rewards of 
Bonaparte's genius: these rewards the entire family seem 
to have felt from the first belonged to them and to them 
alone. No one of them had had, until this winter, much 
opportunity to study Josei)hine. They were irritated to find 
her so evidently a woman of higher rank than themselves; 
they were disgusted at her extravagance and indiscretion. 
Josephine, on her side, took little trouble to win them. 
After all, they were only Corsicans, and not amusing like 


Napoleon. No doubt, she felt a little towards them as Alex- 
ander de Beauharnais had felt towards her when she first 
arrived in Paris — an untrained little islander, the province 
speaking in every gesture. To Josephine's credit, let it be 
said, she never was guilty of trying to undermine the place 
of his family in her husband's affections ; she never opposed 
their advancement: she always, to the best of her ability, 
aided Napoleon in any plans he had for them. It is much 
more than can be said of the Bonapartes' attitude towards 
the Beauharnais. 

Shocking to the Bonapartes as were Josephine's flirta- 
tions, they looked on her extravagance with even more 
horror. To Madame Bonaparte, especially, it was an un- 
forgivable sin; and, in fact, extravagance could scarcely 
have gone farther. Bonaparte was not rich. Indeed he 
prided himself on having returned from Italy poor. But he 
had left a fair income in his brother Joseph's hands — a part 
of which was to go to Josephine. She, in utter disregard 
of the amount of this income, lived in luxury, entertaining 
royally, and buying prodigally everything that pleased her 
fancy. To meet her pressing demands, she borrowed right 
and left. Finally, in the summer of 1799, she purchased 
Malmaison, a country seat at which she and Napoleon had 
looked before he left for Egypt. The purchasing price was 
about $50,000, and she had to borrow $3,000 for the advance 
payment. She went immediately to the place, running in 
debt for repairs and furnishings. 

Joseph Bonaparte was deeply disgusted by Josephine's 
reckless expenditures, and it was only with the greatest 
difficulty that she was able to get any money from him. He 
was the more disobliging because he and other members of 
the family believed that they now had proofs which surely 
would convince Napoleon that Josephine was faithless and 
would cause him to secure a divorce as soon as he returned 


from Italy. And, indeed their cause had already advanced 
in Egypt far beyond their knowledge. Joseph had, before 
Napoleon's sailing, put such suspicions of Josephine's in- 
fidelity into his mind and referred him to such members of 
his own staff for proof, that the General once at sea had in- 
vestigated the matter and become convinced of the truth 
of the charges. The revelation caused him weeks of gloom. 
There was nothing left to live for, he wrote Joseph. At 
twenty-nine he was disillusioned. Honors w^earied him, 
glory was colorless, sentiment dead, men without interest. 
He should return to France and retire to the countrv. But 
he could not abandon his post at once, and as the weeks went 
on recklessness succeeded to gloom. If his wnfe was faith- 
less, why should he be faithful? From that time Joseph- 
ine's exclusive sway was broken. The man who had 
for her sake spurned all women rode openly through the 
streets of Cairo with a pretty little madame whose husband 
had been sent suddenly to France. The glory of love was 
gone forever for Bonaparte, and poor Josephine had lost 
the rarest jewel of her life. Perhaps the saddest of it all 
w^as that she had never realized what she possessed, never 
knew her loss. 

How much Josephine knew of her husband's change of 
feeling towards her is uncertain. There is a letter in ex- 
istence purporting to be hers, written at this time in answer 
to accusations which Napoleon had made from Egypt, in 
w^hich she repels the charges with virtuous indignation and 
attributes them to her enemies, presumably the Bona- 
partes : — 

It is impossible, General (she writes), that the letter I have just re- 
ceived comes from you? I can scarcely credit it when I compare that 
letter with others now before me, to which your love imparts so many 
charms! My eyes, indeed, would persuade me that your hand traced 
these lines ; but my heart refuses to believe that a letter from you could 


ever have caused the mortal anguish I experience on perusing these 
expressions of your displeasure, which afflict me the more when I con- 
sider how much pain they must have cost you. 

I know not what I have done to provoke some malignant enemy to 
destroy my peace by disturbing yours; but certainly a powerful motive 
must influence some one in continually renewing calumnies against me. 
and giving them a sufficient appearance of probability to impose on the 
man who has hitherto judged me worthy of his affection and confidence. 
These two sentiments are necessary to my happiness, and if they are to 
be so soon withdrawn from me, I can only regret that I was ever blest 
in possessing them or knowing you. . . . 

Instead of listening to traducers, who, for reasons which I cannot 
explain, seek to disturb our happiness, why do you not silence them by 
enumerating the benefits you have bestowed on a woman whose heart 
could never be reproached with ingratitude? The knowledge of what 
you have done for my children would check the malignity of these 
calumniators, for they would then see that the strongest link of my 
attachment for you depends on my character as a mother. Your sub- 
sequent conduct, which has claimed the admiration of all Europe, could 
have no other effect than to make me adore the husband who gave me 
his hand when I was poor and unfortunate. Every step you take adds 
to the glory of the name I bear; yet this is the moment that has been 
selected for persuading you that I no longer love you ! Surely nothing 
can be more wicked and absurd than the conduct of those who are about 
you. and are jealous of your marked superiority! 

Yes, I still love you. and no less tenderly than ever. Those who 
allege the contrary know that they speak falsely. To those very persons 
I have frequently written to enquire about you and to recommend them 
to console you by their friendship for the absence of her who is your best 
and truest friend. 

Yet what has been the conduct of the men in whom you repose 
confidence, and on whose testimony you form so unjust an opinion of 
me? They conceal from you every circumstance calculated to alleviate 
the anguish of our separation, and they seek to fill your mind with 
suspicion in order to drive you from a country with which they are 
dissatisfied. Their object is to make you unhappy. I see this plainly, 
though you are blind to their perfidious intentions. Being no longer 
their equal, you have become their enemy, and every one of your vic- 
tories is a fresh ground of envy and hatred. 

I know their intrigues, and I disdain to avenge myself by naming the 
men whom I despise, but whose valor and talents may be useful to 
you in the great enterprise which you have so propitiously commenced. 
When you return. I will unmask these enemies of your glory — but no; 


the happiness of seeing you again will banish from my recollection the 
misery they are endeavoring to inflict upon me. and I shall think only 
of what they have done to promote the success of your projects. 

I acknowledge that I see a great deal of company; for every one is 
eager to compliment me on your success, and I confess I have not 
resolution ro close my door against those who speak of you. I also 
confess that a great portion of my visitors are gentlemen. Men under- 
stand your bold projects better than women, and they speak with en- 
thusiasm of your glorious achievements, while my female friends only 
complain of you for having carried away their husbands, brothers or 
fathers. I take no pleasure in their society if they do not praise you ; 
yet there are some among them whose hearts and understandings claim 
my highest regard because they entertain sincere friendship for you. In 
this number I may distinguish Mesdames d'Aiguillon. Tallien. and my 
aunt. They are almost constantly with me, and they can tell you, un- 
grateful as you are. whether / haz'C been coquetting with everybody. 
These are your words, and they would be hateful to me were I not 
certain that you have disavowed them and are sorry for having written 
them. . . . 

I sometimes receive honors here which cause me no small degree of 
embarrassment. I am not accustomed to this sort of homage, and I 
see it is displeasing to our authorities, who are always suspicious and 
fearful of losing their newly-gotten power. Never mind them, you will 
say; and I should not. but that I know they will try to injure you. and 
I cannot endure the thought of contributing in any way to those feelings 
of enmity which your triumphs sufficiently account for. If they are 
envious now, what will they be when you return crowned with fresh 
laurels? Heavens knows to what lengths their malignity will then carry 
them ! But you will be here, and then nothing can vex me. . . . 

For my part, my time is occupied in writing to you. hearing your 
praises, reading the journals, in which your name appears in every page, 
thinking of you. looking forward to the time when I may see vou hourly, 
complaining of your absence, and longing for your return ; and when my 
task is ended. I begin it over again. Are all these proofs of indifference? 
You will never have any others from me, and if I receive no worse from 
you. I shall have no great reason to cf^mplain, in spite of the ill-natured 
stories I hear about a certain lady in whom you are said to take a lively 
interest. But why should I doubt you? You as.sure me that you love 
me, and, judging of your heart by my own. I believe you. 

Josephine seems not to have doubted her power to pro- 
pitiate Napoleon on his return. She did not count, how- 
ever, on his brothers seeing him before she did; but so it 


turned out. Bonaparte, with an eye to effect, landed un- 
expectedly in France on October 6, 1799. The Bonaparte 
brothers, as soon as they heard of his arrival, hurried 
southward without notifying Josephine, whose first knowl- 
edge of his coming was while she was dining out on October 
10. She immediately started to meet him, but took the 
wrong route. Returning to Paris alone, she found that her 
husband had reached home twelve hours ahead of her. 

Hastening to the little house in the rue de la Victoire, — 
a street that had latterly changed its name in honor of him ; 
and the house in which she had first received him, which 
he had bought subsequently because of its associations, and 
which he had declared, after his disillusion in Egypt, that 
he should always keep, — ^Josephine found Napoleon locked 
in his room. Joseph and Lucien had improved their op- 
portunity, and wrung from him a promise to see his wife no 
more — to secure a divorce. Throwing herself on her knees 
before the door, Josephine wept and begged for hours, 
until the door opened; and then, aided by Hortense and 
Eugene, she sued for pardon. The power she still had over 
the man was too great for him to resist long. The next 
morning, when the Bonaparte brothers called, they found 
a reconciled household. 

How complete the reconciliation was they realized when 
they saw Napoleon paying the $200,000 and more due at 
Malmaison and settling the debts to servants, merchants, 
jew^elers, caterers, florists, liverymen, everybody, in fact, 
which Josephine had contracted right and left in his absence. 
Not only did he pay her obligations with little more than a 
grimace, but he entered heartily into her plans for repairing 
and beautifying their new home. The two appeared con- 
stantly together in public, where their evident happiness 
coming so close upon the rumors of a divorce, caused 
endless gossip. 




JOSEPHINE realized fully that if her victor}' over her 
brothers-in-law was complete, it could endure only 
during her own good behavior — ^that, if she ever 
again gave them reason for complaining of her conduct, she 
probably would have to suffer the full penalty of her wrong- 
doing. She must have realized, too, that the supreme power 
she had once exercised over Napoleon was at an end, that he 
could get along very well without her. The absorbing 
passion of the Italian campaign had become the comfortable, 
unexacting affection which would have been so welcome to 
her in 1796. The change, if more peaceable, brought its 
dangers, she well knew. It meant that if she kept him now, 
she not only must be irreproachable in her life, but she must 
foster his affection by her devotion, amuse him, stand bv 
him in his ambition ; she must be the suitor now. There 
was no question in her mind that he was worth it. If there 
ever had been, the wonderful enthusiasm of the people on his 
return from Egjpt would have dissipated the doabf. Her 
C'urse was evident, and she adopted it immediately, and 
applied herself to it with more seriousness than she ever had 
given to anything before in her life Indeed, the only scri- 
ru? purix)se consistently followed which is to be found in 
J .sephine's life is the resolve taken after the Egyptian cam- 
:*^:gT). unconsciously, no doubt, to keep what remained to 
-frr -f Napoleon's affection, to make hcrsdt neccssanr to 



An opportunity to show him how useful she might be in 
his career came very soon. The coup d'etat of the i8th 
and 19th Brumaire (9th and loth November, 1799) re- 
sulted in Napoleon's being made First Consul in the neW 
government which took the place of the Directory. The 
Bonapartes went at once to the Luxembourg Palace to live, 
and remained there until February, when the Tuileries was 
made the Government House. As the First. Lady of the 
Land, Josephine was in a position where she could be an 
infinite harm or help to her husband. Any flippancy, self- 
will or malice in managing the crowds of people she saw 
from day to day would have been fatal both to her and to 
Napoleon. The tact she showed from the first in playing 
the hostess of France was exquisite. That a woman who 
for thirty-seven years had been the plaything of fate, who 
had shown no moral principle or high purpose in meeting 
the crises of her life, whose chief aim had always been pleas- 
ure, and whose only w^eapons had been her sweet temper 
and her tears, should preside over the official society of a 
newly-formed government and not only make no mistakes, 
but every day knit the discordant elements of that society 
more close, is one of the marvels of feminine intuition and 

No doubt but that with Josephine her perfect goodness of 
heart was at the bottom of her tact. She had no malice, 
she much preferred to see even her enemies happy rather 
than miserable, and though she might weep and complain of 
their unkindness, if she had an opportunity she would do 
them a favor. Her goodness impressed everybody. The 
most disgruntled, after passing a few moments with the wife 
of the First Consul, went away mollified, if not satisfied; 
and a second visit usually satisfied them. She flattered the 
rough soldiers, when Napoleon, always eager to show atten- 
tion to the army, presented them to her, by her knowledge 


of their deeds. She softened the suspicions of the radical 
Republicans by her affectation of sans-culottism and her 
familiarity with the members of the Girondin and Terrorist 
governments. She aroused hope among the aristocrats that 
she would secure them favors from the government — was 
she not one of themselves? Was not her first husband a 
viscount and a victim of the guillotine. She really wanted 
everybody to be pleased, and by her mere amiability she 
came as near as a human being can to pleasing everybody. 

She was wise, too, in her dealings with people. She 
never pretended to know anything about politics — that was 
Napoleon's business; but if she could do them a favor, she 
w^ould ; and straightway she wrote a note or took her car- 
riage to intercede, personally, for them. If she was re- 
fused, she explained with much pains just why it was; if 
she succeeded, she was as pleased as a child. Hundreds of 
her little notes soliciting favors, are to be seen in the collec- 
tions in Europe. Napoleon allowed her a free hand in this 
matter, for he appreciated how purely it was good-will, not 
any desire to mix in politics, which animated her. He real- 
ized, too, how^ valuable to the First Consul it was to have 
some one who always made a friend, whether she secured a 
favor or not. 

No doubt much of Josephine's influence w^as due to her 
personal charm. She w^as never strictly a beautiful woman, 
but her grace was so exquisite, her toilet so perfect, her ex- 
pression so winning, that defects were forgotten in the de- 
light of her personality. Madame de Remusat, in describ- 
ing Josephine, says that without being beautiful, she pos- 
sessed a peculiar charm. Her features were fine and har- 
monious; her expression w^as pleasant; her mouth, which 
w^as small, concealed skilfully her poor teeth ; her complex- 
ion, wliich was rather dark, was helped out by rouge and 
powder; her form was perfect, her limbs being supple and 


delicate, and every movement of her body was easy. *' I 
never knew anyone/* Mme. de Remusat writes, ** to whom 
one could apply more appropriately La Fontaine's verse, 
' Et la grace, plus belle encore que la beaute* '' 

One of Josephine's greatest charms was her voice : it was 
soft, well modulated, and very musical; it always put Na- 
poleon under a peculiar spell. She was an excellent reader, 
and seemed never to tire of reading aloud. In the in- 
timacy of their apartments she spent much time reading 
aloud to Napoleon, and often, when he was sleepless afteV 
a hard day, she would sit by his bed with a book until 
he fell asleep. Many of those who heard her read have said 
that the charm of her voice was such that one forgot entirely 
what she was saying and listened simply to the music of the 

Constant says, in describing Josephine : *' She was of 
medium height and of a rarely perfect form; her move- 
ments were supple and light, making her walk something 
fairylike, without preventing a certain majesty becoming 
to a sovereign; her face changed with every thought of 
her soul, and never lost its charming sweetness ; in pleasure 
as in sorrow she was always beautiful to look upon. There 
never was a woman who demonstrated better than she that 
' the eyes are the mirror of the soul ; ' hers were of a deep 
blue, and almost 'always half closed by her long lids, which 
were slightly arched and bordered with the most beautiful 
lashes in the world. Her hair was very beautiful, long; and 
soft ; she liked to dress it in the morning with a red Madras 
handkerchief, which gave her a Creole air, most piquant to 


Josephine showed her wisdom, from the beginning of the 
Consulate, in yielding to Napoleon's wishes about whom she 
should receive. The First Consul's notions of official so- 
ciety were severe and well-matured. Nobody should be ad- 

B>- Prud'hon. This 

Napoleon wandering, i . - , 

(IT9S). (See paRC Sg.) Prud'hon shows us .InKphine in the RaTden of the 
chateau she loved so well, and in which she S|ient the happiest nlomenls of 
her lite, before seeking it as a final refuge in her grief and despair. The 

stone heni^h amid "the" grovea ofthe pa'rk.''in an "attitude of ret-erle"and wean 
a white dicoUitll robe cnhroidered in gold. A crimion shawl is draped round 

^leculed at the same time as laabry'a piclure < 
iliCary dreamer, in the long alleys al Malmaisn 
Prud'hon 'hows us Josephine in the b ' 



mitted that did not support his government. At least, if 
they criticised, they must do so quietly. The army must be 
honored there before all. The Republicans must be made to 
feel, of course, that this was their society. The aristocrats 
must be encouraged just as far as it could be done without 
giving the people alarm. A fusion of all elements was really 
what he aimed at, but nobody dared mention that fact. 
Josephine's intuition seems to have guided her almost un- 
erringly through the difficult task of giving just the right 
amount of encouragement and attention to each. 

Above all, in this new society there must be no irregu- 
larities, no scandals. The government must be respectable. 
There should be no speculators, no contractors, no fakirs, no 
persons of immorality of any sort ; only honest people, and 
they must behave. Order, decency, and dignity were to 
prevail in the Consulate. No more impromptu suppers for 
Josephine, no more dinners with Barras and Mme. Tal- 
lien and their like, no more moonlight walks in the garden 
at Malmaison. La vie Bohcmc was ended, and she was 
wise enough to accept the situation and make the most of it. 

For nearly two years the entertainments over which Jose- 
phine presided as wife of the First Consul were very sim- 
ple. There were balls and parades and fetes, but they were 
conducted like such functions in a great private house, where 
there is only the necessary eticjuette to insure order and com- 
fort. It was a republican court which was held at the Tuil- 
eries and at Malmaison — for the country home of the Bona- 
partes had come to be almost an official residence, so much of 
their time was spent there and so many were the visitors who 
came there. The place was a great delight to Josephine. 
She was having the chateau rebuilt and the gardens laid out 
over again, and she was indulging her caprices fully in 
doing it. She must have a new dining-room, large enough 
to seat a great diplomatic dinner party, if necessary. There 


must be a new billiard room, a new library, new private 
apartments, more room for guests and servants, more stable 
room. But to build over an old house in this elaborate way 
was no easy task, particularly when the proprietor enlarged 
and changed his plans each month. The architects warned 
Bonaparte that it would be cheaper to pull down the old 
chateau than to rebuild, but the work was under way, 
and it must go on. A year and a half after the repairs 
began, and before anything was completed, the bills were 
sent in — ^$120,000 had already been spent. ** For what?'' 
demanded the enraged First Consul. Protest as he would 
the work had to continue. For years Malmaison was a 
constant expense — for Josephine, never satisfied, was always 
enlarging and changing. In the end, the chateau was nearly 
double its original size, but its exterior never had any real 
distinction. The interior, however, was most interesting 
from the great number of rare and beautiful art objects 
which it contained and which, for the most part, Josephine 
had either received as gifts or had brought from Italy. 
There was a wonderful mantel of white marble, ornamented 
with mosaic, given to her by the Pope, and there were vases 
of Berlin from the King of Prussia. There were rare speci- 
mens of the ancient and modern works of all the Italian 
painters, sculptors, potters, metal workers, and there were 
pictures by all the great French artists of the day, among 
them many portraits of Napoleon — in Egypt, in Italy, cross- 
ing the Alps. 

Josephine took even more interest in the park and gardens 
at Malmaison than in the chateau. She was passionately 
fond of flowers, and immediately undertook to cultivate at 
Malmaison a garden of rare plants, similar to that which 
Marie Antoinette had started at the Petit Trianon. This 
soon became, at the suggestion of the professional botanists 
she called in to assist her in collecting her plants, a veritable 


Botanical Garden. She gathered from the world over, and 
her fancy becoming known, ambassadors, merchants, and 
travellers, foreign and French, exerted themselves to please 
her. In the end, thanks to the skillful gardeners she se- 
cured, her plants became of large public value and interest. 
Masson says that between 1804 and 18 14, 184 new species 
of plants found their way into the country through Jo- 
sephine's garden. The eucalyptus, hybiscus, catalpa, and 
camelia w^ere first cultivated by her, not to speak of many 
varieties of heather, myrtle, geranium, cactus, and rhodo- 

When she first owned Malmaison, the land was in park or 
in vines, and there were some long avenues of fine trees. 
There was none of the complicated English gardening which 
was then in fashion. Josephine would have nothing else. 
So the fine allees and lawns were destroyed, and groups of 


shrubs, long rows of hedges, a brook, lakes, winding 
paths, a Swiss village, a temple of love, grottoes, a cascade, 
an endless variety of artificial and sentimental devices, took 
their place. To decorate this park of Malmaison to Jo- 
sephine's liking, the government turned over to her dozens 
of bronze and marble busts, vases, columns, and statues, 
some of them of great value. 

One curious and amusing feature of the park was the ani- 
mals it contained. Josephine was as fond of pets as of flow- 
ers. She always had one or more dogs from which she was 
never separated — not even Napoleon could make her give 
them up, much as he detested them. At Malmaison, she 
gave free rein to her liking. Birds were her chief delight, 
and she bought scores. In three years her bill for birds 
from one dealer was over $4,500. The lakes were filled with 
swans, black and white, and ducks from America and China ; 
in the parks were kangaroos, deer, gazelles, a chamois ; there 
were monkeys everywhere ; and there were no end of trained 


pets of all kinds — usually gifts. None of these animals 
were of any practical use; to be sure there was a flock of 
valuable sheep, but these were kept merely as a decoration 
to a certain field, the shepherds who guarded them having 
been brought in their native costumes from Switzerland. 

Josephine's interest in her garden and flowers and animals 
was beyond that of the mere prodigal w^ho buys for the sake 
of buying and loses his interest in possessing. One of the 
delights of her life at Malmaison was visiting daily her ani- 
mals, in each of which she took the liveliest interest. Her 
flowers she watched carefully, and she took great delight in 
distributing them. Many gardens in France to-day contain 
plants and trees w^hich are said to be grown from cuttings 
sent to some dead-and-gone ancestor by Josephine. 

During the first two years of the Consulate, in spite of 
all the changes going on, Malmaison was the source of much 
brilliant life. Here when the news of Marengo reached 
Paris, Josephine had tents spread, and gave a great fete in 
honor of the victory ; here gathered all the artists and writ- 
ers and musicians of the day ; here eminent travellers came. 
There was great simplicity in all entertaining, and when only 
the private circle of the Consul was present, there was much 
went on which looked like romping, Bonaparte and Jo- 
sephine leading in the games. 

The favorite amusement was private theatricals. Bona- 
parte was very fond of the drama, had studied it carefully 
for many years, and he gave much attention to the perform- 
ances at Malmaison. The little company there was very 
good, Hortense de Beauharnais and Bourrienne, Bonaparte's 
secretary, being actors of more than ordinary ability. Some- 
thing of the care that was given to the preparation of an en- 
tertainment is indicated by the fact that Talma himself used 
to come to the rehearsals to criticise. Theatricals took such 
a place in the life at Malmaison that finally a little theatre 


was built. It would seat perhaps 200 persons, and was con- 
nected with the salons of the chateau by a long gallery. 

At the Tuileries, the Bonapartes were in a Government 
House; at Malmaison they were at home, and they never 
anywhere were so gay, so busy, and so happy together. Cer- 
tainly in these two years Josephine succeeded admirably in 
her purpose of repairing the mischief she had done by her 
past indiscretions. It was not alone her tact in society and 
its value to him which had won Napoleon. It was that she 
had been to him an incessant delight and comfort. She 
yielded to his will uncjuestioningly and willingly, and this 
pliability was the more welcome because his own family 
were in incessant opposition to his wishes. She was always 
on hand, ready to walk, to drive, to go with him where he 
would. She was tireless in her efforts to please the people 
he wanted pleased, to carry off successfully the burdensome 
functions of official life, to provide the entertainment he 
liked. She studied his tastes and foresaw his wants. She 
tried to please him in the least detail. Napoleon loved to 
see her in white, hence she wore no other kind of gown so 
often. He liked to hear her read, and no matter how tired 
she was she would sit at his bedside by the hour, if he wished, 
and read uncomplainingly. Little wonder that as the weeks 
went Josephine grew dearer and dearer to Napoleon or that 
she, seeing her hold, watched carefully that nothing loosen it. 





THE first real threat to Josephine's position came in 
a political question. In order to give an appear- 
ance of Stability to the new government, it was pro- 
posed to give the First Consul the right to appoint a suc- 
cessor. But if Napoleon had this right, would he not wish 
for a son upon whom to confer it, would he not desire to 
establish a hereditary office? Josephine had given him no 
children. He was only thirty-one; might he not, in spite of 
all his affection, divorce her for the sake of this succession, 
which, he declared, was essential to the future of the Con- 
sulate. Josephine turned all her power of cajoling upon 
Napoleon. ** Do not make yourself king,'' she begged; 
and when he laughed at her, and told her that securing to 
himself the right to appoint a successor in the Consulate 
was nothing of that sort — only a device to prevent the over- 
throw of the government in case of his absence at the head 
of the army, or in case of his sudden death, she was not 
convinced. She began, indeed, to talk of the advisability 
of bringing back the Bourbons, and called herself a royalist. 
Napoleon's decision was taken, however. He must ap- 
point a successor, and it should be one of his own family. 
But which one? Joseph had no head for affairs. With 
Lucien he had quarreled. But there was Louis, who had 
none of his brothers' faults and all of their good qualities. 
Louis it should be. The knowledge that Napoleon undoubt- 



edly favored Louis as his successor determined Josephine to 
arrange a marriage between him and her daughter Hor- 

At this time, 1800, Hortense was seventeen years old, 
though the exceptional experiences of her childhood had 
given her a thoughtfulness quite superior to her years. She 
had been but ten when her mother, lest a suspicion of her 
patriotism might be roused because she brought up her 
children in idleness, had apprenticed her to a dressmaker. 
She was but eleven years old when her parents were im- 
prisoned, and when in the costumes of laborers' children she 
and Eugene had made frequent visits to les Carmes and had 
gone together more than once to beg of persons in author- 
ity for the lives of their father and mother. After the Revo- 
lution, Hortense had been placed in Mme. Campan's school 
at St. Germain — a school established to give the young girls 
of the better class whose parents had been scattered or guillo- 
tined in the Revolution, an opportunity to learn the ways 
and the graces of that society which for so long the patriots 
had been trying to uproot. At Mme. Campan's, Hortense 
had distinguished herself by her gentlenesss and her good- 
ness, by the quickness with which she learned everything 
taught, and by her enthusiasm and ideals. She had left the 
school a thoroughly charming and accomplished girl, to 
join her mother, now the wife of the First Consul. She had 
all of Josephine's charms of person, her grace and supple- 
ness, her beautiful form, her interesting and mobile face; 
but she was more vivacious than Josephine and more in- 
telligent. As for her accomplishments, they were many. 
She played the piano and the harp, and sang well. Her 
drawing and embroidery w^ere not bad, as many specimens 
still preserved show. She danced w^ith exquisite grace; 
she, even at this time, had literary aspirations, and she was 


the star of the company which put on so many pieces at the 
little theatre at Malmaison. 

Hortense was a favorite of Napoleon. He had loved her 
first because she was Josephine's daughter. After she left 
school and was constantly of the household, he grew more 
and more attached to her, more and more anxious for her 
happiness. Hortense, though she never ceased to fear Na- 
poleon, loved him with the enthusiasm of a young girl for a 
conquering hero. She seems never to have questioned his 
will — never to have doubted his affection for her. 

Hortense's marriage was, of course, an important ques- 
tion with the Bonapartes, and various suitors had been con- 
sidered. The girl herself was not ambitious. Neither 
wealth nor station obscured her judgment. She wanted to 
marry for love, she declared. At one time she had a 
strong feeling for Duroc, and Napoleon favored the mar- 
riage strongly. Duroc was of good family and a brave 
soldier, and Hortense loved him; what better? Josephine 
opposed it. She had set her heart on Louis Bonaparte, in 
spite of the fact that Hortense felt something like an an- 
tipathy to the young man. Louis himself did not take to 
the marriage at first. He had imbibed from his mother and 
brothers the idea that the Beauharnais were the natural 
enemies of the Bonapartes, and a marriage with Hortense 
they all declared, would be disloyal. However, in Septem- 
ber, 1801, when Louis returned to Paris after several months 
absence and saw Hortense at a ball, he was so impressed by 
her charm that he yielded at once to Josephine's wishes, and 
asked for her hand. Napoleon consented with a little re- 
gret ; Hortense obeyed as a matter of duty, urged to it as she 
was both by her mother and Mme. Campan. The marriage 
took place early in January, 1802. It was a victory for 
Josephine over the Bonapartes, so her friends said, and so 


the Bonapartes felt bitterly. But, alas, it was a victory 
for which Hortense paid the price. Before the end of the 
year, it was evident that Mme. Louis Bonaparte was very 
unhappy; her husband was jealous and exacting, and con- 
stantly tried to turn her against her mother in the family 
feud. Not even the birth of a son, in October, silenced 
his grievances for long, though to Napoleon and to Jo- 
sephine the coming of the little Napoleon-Charles, as he 
was named, was an inexpressible joy. To Josephine the 
child was a new support to her position, a new reason why 
a succession could be established without divorcing her and 
re-marrying. It was a succession through her, too, since this 
was her daughter's child. 

Napoleon himself soon became more devoted to the child 
than its father ever was. In a way, his own ardent desire 
for fatherhood was satisfied by the presence of the baby, 
which he kept by him as much as he could, riding it on his 
back, trotting it on his foot, rolling with it on the floor, lying 
beside it at night until it slept — a touching proof of this 
extraordinary man's passion to possess a love which was 
faithful and disinterested. As time went on and the ques- 
tion of the succession came into the senate, the struggle be- 
tween the brothers as to how the heredity should be regu- 
lated reached its climax. Napoleon determined to adopt 
Hortense's child and make him his heir. Joseph, Lucien, 
and Louis himself refused to resign what they called their 
rights, and each had important supporters in his position. 
Lucien, in the struggle, broke entirely with Napoleon. 

But if the succession was to be settled to Josephine's sat- 
isfaction, there were other matters which worried her at the 
beginning of the life Consulate. Chief among these was 
that Napoleon insisted upon leaving Malmaison for St. 
Cloud. Josephine's interest in the former place was so 
great, her life there had been so happy, that she was 


violently opposed to any change. St. Cloud was too large; 
it smacked too much of royalty, the idea of which was 
awaking such vague alarms in her mind; its associations 
were too sad. But her opposition availed nothing what- 
ever. Bonaparte felt that a larger residence was necessary. 
Malmaison was a private home, St. Cloud belonged to the 
State, and he, as the head of the State, wished to occupy its 
palaces. They had no sooner taken St. Cloud than their 
whole mode of life changed; the simple, informal ways of 
Malmaison were laid aside, and a rigid etiquette adopted. 
There is a governor of the palace, there are prefects of the 
palace, there are ladies of the palace. Josephine and Napo- 
leon no longer receive everybody of the household at their 
table, but eat alone, inviting, two or three times a week, 
those persons whom they may care particularly to dis- 
tinguish. The ladies and gentlemen belonging to the palace 
have tables of their own quite apart. There is a military 
household annexed to St. Cloud, with four generals and a 
large guard, an elaborate suite which accompanies the First 
Consul when he goes forth. Every Sunday, a great crowd 
of dignitaries — senators, cardinals, bishops, ambassadors, 
everybody of note in Paris — flock to the First Consul's re- 
ceptions. After paying their respects to him, they pass into 
the apartment of Madame Bonaparte. It is the former 
apartment of Marie Antoinette, and that Queen herself did 
not receive in more state than the wife of the First Consul. 
It is the same at the services in the chapel, which are held 
every Sunday, and which Bonaparte insists everybody shall 
attend. At the theatre of the palace, where the little plays 
which they so much enjoyed at Malmaison are still repeated, 
there is the same increase of etiquette. Josephine and Bona- 
parte no longer are seated with their friends, but occupy a 
loge apart; and when they enter, the whole assembly rises 
and salutes. People are there by invitation, too, and no 


one pretends to applaud unless the signal is given by the 
First Consul. 

Day by day Josephine bemoaned this new departure; 
and as hostile criticisms and sneers reached her, she set her 
face against the changes. Her protests were useless: 
** Josephine, you are tiresome — you know nothing about 
these things," Napoleon finally told her, and Fouche, her 
friend, finally silenced her by his cynical advice. ** Be quiet, 
Madame; you annoy your husband uselessly. He will be 
Consul for life, King or Emperor, all that he can be. Your 
fears disturb him; your advice would wound him. Keep 
your proper place, and let the events which neither you nor 
I know how to prevent work out." 

She did accept, and took her part. If it was true that Na- 
poleon was going to make himself Emperor, she must, be- 
fore all, so conduct herself that he would prefer her on the 
throne at his side to all the Avorld. As the weeks went on 
and it became evident that an Empire would soon be pro- 
claimed, Josephine had increasing need of discretion. The 
Bonaparte family had set themselves again to prevent the 
succession going to a Beauharnais. Josephine should be di- 
vorced, they said ; Eugene, to whom Napoleon was greatly 
attached, should be sent ofif with his mother. As for his 
adopting little Napoleon-Charles, the child of Hortense, 
neither Joseph nor Louis, the father, w^ould hear to it. 
" Why should I give up to my son a part of your succes- 
sion? " said Louis to his brother. ** What have I done that 
I should be disinherited? What will be my place when this 
child has become yours and finds himself in a position far 
superior to mine, independent of me, outranking me, look- 
ing upon me with suspicion and perhaps with contempt? 
No, I will never consent to it, and rather than consent to 
bow my head before my son I will leave France ; I will take 


Napoleon away with me, and we will see if you will dare to 
steal a child from his father/' 

Napoleon's sisters, particularly Caroline, Mme. Murat, 
were no less determined than the brothers to secure all 
the advantages possible from his glory. In their eager- 
ness, they showed such envy and bitterness that Napoleon 
was deeply disgusted, and gave them no satisfaction as to 
his intentions. He even took some pains to tease them. 
One day when the family were together and he was playing 
with little Napoleon, he said, " Do you know, little one, that 
you are in danger of being King one of these days? " 

*' And Achille?*' Murat exclaimed, referring to his own 

" Oh, Achille will make a good soldier," answered Na- 
poleon laughing, and when he saw the black looks of both 
Caroline and Murat, he added : " At all events, my poor 
little one, I advise you, if you want to live, to accept no 
meals that your cousins offer you." 

In spite of all the plotting and protesting of the Bona- 
partes, Josephine was proclaimed Empress, and the law of 
succession was passed as it pleased Napoleon : — " The 
French people desire the inheritance of the Imperial dignity 
in the direct natural or adoptive line of descent from Na- 
poleon Bonaparte and in the direct natural, legitimate line 
of descent from Joseph Bonaparte and from Louis Bona- 
parte." Napoleon was free to adopt either Eugene or Na- 
poleon-Charles and make him his heir. The law mentioned 
neither Joseph nor Louis as heir. Josephine's victory in 
this instance was as much due to the fact that she had made 
no protests about the succession and had asked nothing, as 
to anything else. Her seeming confidence (as a matter of 
fact, she feared the worst for herself) and her generous 
pleasure in the satisfaction those about took in their new 


honors offered such a contrast to the jealousy and fault- 
finding of the Bonapartes that Napoleon felt more and 
more, as he had often said to her in family quarrels : " You 
are my only comfort, Josephine/' Not only Josephine, but 
Hortense and Eugene showed themselves in all this period 
wise and generous. The two latter apparently felt sin- 
cerely that Napoleon did more for them than they had 
a right to expect. The gratitude and disinterestedness they 
showed was indeed one of the few real satisfactions of Na- 
poleon's life, for he seems to have believed always that they 
were genuine, something he never felt about the expressions 
of his own family. 

Not only was the law of succession fixed to Josephine's 
satisfaction; but to her unspeakable joy, Napoleon finally 
told her that she was to be crowned at the same time as he. 
In the new government she had no political rights, but in 
this supreme ceremony she should share. Here again it may 
have been as much family opposition as love for Josephine 
and desire to associate her with himself in this greatest of 
royal spectacles that finally led Napoleon to this decision. 
Just as before the proclamation of the Empire the Bona- 
partes quarreled about the succession, now they tormented 
the Emperor about their positions and their privileges. *' One 
would think," he said testily one day to Caroline, when she 
was upbraiding him for not according to his sisters the 
honors due them, ** that I had robbed you of the inheritance 
of the late King, our father.'* Joseph did not hesitate to 
say sarcastic things, even in official gatherings, about the 
impropriety of crowning a woman who had given her hus- 
band no successor. Napoleon stood it for some time, and 
finally in a violent outburst of passion silenced him, at least 
for the time. The announcement that Josephine was to be 
crowned, and that her sisters-in-law were to carry the train 


of her robe, caused still further heart-burnings, but the fiat 
had gone forth and everybody finally submitted. 

However, the new court was too busy in the summer and 
fall of 1804 to give overmuch time to quarreling. The mere 
matter of familiarizing themselves with the new code of 
etiquette sufficiently well not to incur the ridicule of those 
who had been brought up to court usages, was serious 
enough to absorb most of their time and energies. They 
succeeded fairly well, though the aristocrats of the Faubourg 
St. Germain told endless tales of the blunders they made, 
stories which were circulated industriously in the courts of 
Europe. Their failure was not for lack of effort, however. 
Josephine and her ladies took up the code with energy — it 
was a new amusement, and for weeks they studied their parts 
and went through their rehearsals as if they were preparing 
a play for the stage. Before the time of the coronation they 
had become fairly at home with court usages and were ready 
to take up the rehearsals for that ceremony with fresh en- 

Indeed, for a month at least, all Paris was absorbed in 
preparations for the coronation. Fontainebleau was to be 
put in order to receive the Pope. Notre Dame, where the 
ceremony was to take place, was to be superbly decorated. 
Magnificent carriages and trappings for horses and livery 
were to be provided. Robes and uniforms were to be made 
ready for the actors. All of the decorators, jewelers, cos- 
tume-makers, merchants of all sorts in the city were busy 
night and day. As for the court itself, there one heard noth- 
ing talked but the coming spectacle. Under the direction of 
the Grand Master, the ceremonies had been planned down to 
the most trivial detail, and everybody was busy learning and 
practicing his part. 

By the time the Pope arrived at Fontainebleau, on Novem- 

T^ame at ll.r lime of Jot 

c hy David in th« Calbcilnl of Xoln 

in the MuKum of \ 


ber 25, everything was practically ready. The court had 
gone to Fontainebleau to meet His Holiness, and in the few 
days it remained there before going to Paris, Josephine 
achieved a victory which completed her happiness for the 
time. No religious marriage between her and Napoleon 
had ever been celebrated, and although it had been a part of 
Napoleon's policy since he came into power to restore the 
church, and although he had insisted on an observation of 
all its ceremonies, he had always refused Josephine's request 
for a religious marriage. Now, however, she obtained a 
powerful advocate — the Pope — to whom, at confession, she 
told her trouble. He declared he could not officiate at the 
coronation unless a religious marriage was performed. The 
night before the coronation. Napoleon gave his consent, and 
the service was held at the Tuileries in profound secresy, 
only two witnesses being present. 

December 2nd had been set for the coronation. The 
Tuileries, from which the royal party was to go to Notre 
Dame, was astir very early, for the Pope was to leave the 
palace at nine; the Emperor and Empress an hour later. 
The morning was given to dressing — a long task in Jo- 
sephine's case, but one which justified the labor and thought 
which had been given to her costume. Never had she looked 
more beautiful than when she joined the Emperor and her 
ladies. Napoleon was delighted at her appearance, and 
Mme. de Remusat declared that she did not look over 

Josephine's coronation gown was of white satin, elab- 
orately embroidered in silver and gold; it hung from the 
shoulders, and was confined by a girdle set with gems. A 
train of white velvet embroidered in gold and silver was fas- 
tened to this gown. The neck was low and square, and the 
sleeves were long. A ruff, stiff with gold, was set into the 
top of the sleeves, and rose high behind her head. The nar- 


row corsage and the top of the sleeves were decorated with 
diamonds. She wore a magnificent necklace of sculptured 
stones surrounded with diamonds, and on her head was a 
diadem of pearls and diamonds. Her shoes were of white 
velvet, embroidered in gold; on her hands she wore white 
gloves, embroidered in gold. The cost of the pieces of this 
costume are interesting — the gow^n is estimated to have cost 
$2,000; the velvet train, $1,400; the shoes, $130. 

The pontifical procession had been gone from the Palace 
over an hour when Napoleon and Josephine, accompanied by 
Joseph and Louis Bonaparte, descended, and entered the gor- 
geous state carriage drawn by eight horses in rich harness. 
As the sides of the vehicle were entirely of glass, the spec- 
tators could look easily upon the magnificence of the party 
inside. From the Tuileries, the party proceeded slowly to 
the Archbishop's palace, along streets crowded with people 
and decorated with every device which skill and money could 
provide. During the entire procession, salvos of artillery 
at intervals greeted the Emperor. At the palace of the 
Archbishop, the party entered, and here Napoleon put on 
his coronation robe and Josephine finished her costume by 
changing her diadem for one of amethysts and by fastening 
to her left shoulder a royal mantle of red velvet, embroidered 
in golden bees and in the imperial N surrounded by garlands, 
and bordered and lined with ermine. This mantle fell from 
the shoulders, and trailed for fully two yards on the floor. 

These changes of toilet made, the cortege started — ^pages, 
cuirassiers and heralds, the Grand Master of Ceremonies and 
his aides, — a marshal bearing a cushion on which was placed 
the ring for the Empress, another marshal carrying the 
crown on a cushion. Following the Empress and her at- 
tendants, came the cortege of the Emperor; first the mar- 
shals bearing the crown, sceptre, and sword of Charlemagne, 
and the ring and globe belonging to Napoleon; then the 


Emperor, crowned with a wreath of gold laurel leaves, the 
sceptre in one hand, and in the other a baton — emblem of 
justice, his heavy royal mantle carried by several princes, a 
guard of richly dressed ornamental personages following. 

On entering the cathedral, both the Emperor and the Em- 
press were presented with holy water, and then began their 
slow journey up the aisle of the cathedral to the high altar, 
where the service took place. The sceptre, crown, sword, 
ring and globe of the Emperor were placed upon the altar, 
and beside them were placed the crown, ring, and mantle of 
the Empress. The Pope then anointed the Emperor's head 
and hands with oil, and the same service was used immedi- 
ately after in anointing Josephine. The mass followed, 
during which the Pope blessed the imperial ornaments of 
both Napoleon and Josephine. 

At the close of this service, the Emperor .mounted the steps 
to the altar, on which the imperial crown was placed, lifted 
it, and put it himself on his head ; then taking the crown of 
the Empress in his hands, he descended the steps to the place 
where Josephine was kneeling. With a gesture at once so 
gentle and so proud that it impressed the whole splendid au- 
dience, he put the crown upon her head, while the Pope pro- 
nounced the orison : " May God crown you with the crown 
of glory and justice; may He give you strength and courage 
that, through this benediction, and by your own faith and the 
multiplied fruits of your good works, you may attain the 
crown of the eternal kingdom, through the grace of Him 
whose reign and empire extends from age to age." 

As the last words of the prayer died away the cortege 
turned from the high altar and proceeded slowly down the 
nave to the point where the throne had been placed. At the 
top of a staircase of some twenty-nine steps was a large 
platform, on which a sumptuous arm-chair, richly decorated 
w ith embroideries and golden symbols, had been placed for 


Napoleon. To the right of this seat, and one step lower, 
was a smaller chair, with similar decorations, for Josephine. 
The Emperor and Empress mounted the steps and seated 
themselves. They were followed by the Pope, who blessed 
them, and then, kissing the Emperor on the cheek, turned to 
the assembly, and pronounced the words, "" Vivat imperator 
in crternum," The Tc Dciim, the prayers, the reading of 
the Scriptures, the offering, followed; and then, the mass 
finished, the oath taken. Napoleon and Josephine descended 
and attended by their suites, left the cathedral, and entered 
their carriage. The ceremony, from the time of leaving the 
Tuileries, had taken five hours. It was three and a half 
hours more before the long procession was ended and they 
were back again in the palace. 

That night Napoleon and Josephine dined alone, the Em- 
press wearing her crown, at her husband's request, so pleased 
was he with the grace and dignity with which she carried it. 



CONSKCRATED by the Pope, crowned by Napoleon, 
J(>sci)hine*s i)osition seemed impregnable in the eyes 
of all the world. It was one (^f dazzling splendor. 
The little Creole whose youth had been spent in a sugar- 
house, who had passed months in a prison cell, who many a 
time had lH>rrowed money to pay her rent, now had become 
tlic mistress, not of a palace, but of palaces — oi Fontaine- 
bleau, the Tuileries, Versailles, Ramlx>uillet. She who for 
Si^ manv vears had In^irijeil favi^rs at the doors of others, 
was now the center of a great machine, called a ** House- 
hold,** ilevoieil to serving her. There were a First Almoner, 
a Maiil of Hom^r, a I^uly of the Bedchamber, numbers of 
Ladies of the Palace, a First Chaml^rlain, a First Equer>\ a 
Private Secretary, a Cliief Steward — all of them having their 
resjHVtive attemlants: anil there were, l^sides these, va!e:>. 
fivtmen, jvages. anil servaius of all grades. Her life, so 
IvMig \Mie of unthinking freevlom, was now regfulatevl to the 
las: detail. The a|xinments in tlie palace devotev! to her own 
uses were tw^^ — the aiKinment of honor and the private 
ajKirtment. IVfv^re the vl»>v^r .^f :!:e ante-c!:art:Vr ^f :::e 
ai^artUKtU of hvMior st^vxi. day and night, a d>?r-keeper: 
\\i*J**n were four va'ers, two *:rrV.c:Vr^»\ :\v^ rvi^res : ! 
errands^, frv^m twelve to twenty-six fx^tmen. ready to do 
hv^nor to the incv^mmg anvi outgv.^:ng guests. In the salens. 
whet^ visitors watte*.!, were -^ther decorative fx^tnter. ir^i 
pages — a retir.ite ten ttm«es larger than acrjal sen.-iof r 


quired, but none too large to the eye accustomed to court 
etiquette. It was through this hedge of attendants that the 
suppHcant, flatterer or friend who would see Josephine now 
must work his way — a slow way, often only to be made by 
fair address, strong relations, and judicious gifts. Jo- 
sephine by nature the most accessible of mortals, was now 
obliged to turn away old friends because they did not please 
His Majesty, the Emperor. That he was oftentimes quite 
right, the following frank little letter of hers shows : — 

" I am sorry, my dear friend, that my wishes cannot be 
fulfilled, as you and my other old friends imagine they can. 
You seem to think that if I do not see you it is because I 
have forgotten you. Alas ! no, on the contrary, my memory 
is more tenacious than I wish. The more I think of 
what I am, the more I am mortified at not being able to 
obey the dictates of my heart. The Empress of France is 
the veriest slave in the Empire, and she cannot acquit the 
debt which Madame de Beauharnais owes. This makes 
me miserable, and it will explain why you are not near me; 
why I do not see Madame Tallien ; why, in short, many of 
my former friends would be forgotten by me, but that my 
memory is faithful. 

** The Emperor, displeased at the prevailing laxity of 
morals, and anxious to check its progress, wishes that his 
palace should present an example of virtuous and religious 
conduct. Anxious to consolidate the religion which he has 
restored, and having no power to alter laws to which he has 
given his assent, he has determined to exclude from Court 
all persons who have taken advantage of the law of divorce. 
He has given this promise to the Pope, and he cannot break 
it. This reason alone has obliged him to refuse the favor 
I solicited of having you about me. His refusal afflicts me, 
but it is too positive to admit of any hope of its being re- 


The apartment of honor was devoted to receiving, and 
Josephine's movements there were prescribed in detail. The 
costume she should wear, the chair in which she should sit, 
the rank of the person who should be allowed in the room 
when she received, who should announce, who carry a note, 
who bring a glass of water, all of this was ordered and per- 
formed precisely. In her private apartment there was 
greater appearance of freedom, though it was arranged by 
the code at what hour she should take her morning cup of 
tea and by whose hand it should be presented, who should 
admit her pet dog, what should be her costume for the morn- 
ing, and who should arrange it. 

AVhen the Empress left the palace, the forms were multi- 
pHed. Attended by her ladies of waiting, she passed over a 
carpet spread for her passage, through the file of liveried 
servants which decorated all the apartments. Before her 
marched the younger of the two pretty pages always waiting 
in the outer salon, while the elder bore the train of her robe. 
At the door, the magnificent portier d'appartcmcvit struck 
the floor with his halberd as she passed. One of the dozen 
carriages in her stables drawn usually by eight horses 
awaited her. Before, leside, and behind as she drove were 
servants in gorgeous livery, mounted or afoot; a brilliant 
spectacle for the passer-by, but a wearisome one for poor 

It was no better when she travelled, as she did a great 
deal, especially in the first two years after the coronation. 
Thus in the spring of 1805, she accompanied Napoleon to 
Milan, where he was to be crowned King of Italy. The 
journey was a long series of brilliant functions — ^at Lyons, a 
triumphal arch, a reception by the Empress, an entertain- 
ment at the theater ; at Turin, flattering ceremonies; on the 
field of Marengo, mimic manoeuvres of the battle, led by 
Murat, Lannes, and Bessieres, and watched by Napoleon 


and Josephine from a throne, and after the manoeuvres, the 
laying of a corner-stone to those who lost their lives on the 
field; at Milan, on May 26, the coronation of Napoleon, 
which Josephine watched from the gallery of the cathedral, 
followed by splendid public fetes lasting for days ; a mimic 
representation on the battlefield of Castiglione; visits to 
Bologna, Modena, Parma, Geneva, Turin, all attended by 
the most extravagant festivities. This journey lasted from 
April 4th to July i8th, the date of their return to St. Cloud, 
and through it all Josephine was scarcely free for an hour 
from the fatiguing duties of a great sovereign. 

Napoleon returned to Paris from Italy to prepare for war 
with Austria, and in September he set out on the campaign. 
Josephine went with him as far as Strasburg, where she trans- 
ferred her household to the Imperial Palace which had been 
established there for Napoleon's use. For two months she 
remained at Strasburg, while Napoleon dazzled Europe by 
the campaign which, on Dec. 2nd, culminated at Austerlitz. 
Alone she conducted her court as she would have done in 
Paris, as magnificently and as brilliantly. In November, she 
left Strasburg to go to Munich — a triumphal march, really, 
for everywhere she received royal honors. Her approach to 
every city through which she was to pass en route was an- 
nounced by the ringing of bells and salvos of artillery ; great 
processions of dignitaries went out to meet her; arches of 
triumph were erected for her; beautiful gifts were presented; 
there were illuminations, balls, and state performances of 
all sorts. She reached Munich on December 5th, and here 
remained until after January 14th, on which day another 
great ceremony, her son's marriage with Princess Augusta 
of Baden, was celebrated. 

From the manner of its arrangement one might have ex- 
pected nothing but misery from this alliance. The young 
princess was violently opposed to it, and only consented at 



her father's entreaty — *' a sacrifice to father, family and 
country/' she said. Eugene knew nothing of the proi)osed 
marriage until he arrived, at Napoleon's order, in Munich. 
The two young people never saw each other until four days 
before the wedding. Fortunately they fell in love at once, 
and their married life was one of exceptional devotion and 
happiness. Napoleon was so pleased with the course things 
took that he adopted Eugene at the time of the celebration of 
the marriage — a great blow to the Bonapartes and a new 
happiness for Josephine. 

The fatiguing duties attendant upon official journeys in 
foreign countries and upon holding a court in a strange city 
were repeated again in 1806. In January, after Eugene's 
marriage, Josephine came back to Paris with the Emperor; 
but in September he left for the campaign against Prussia 
and Russia, and she went to Mayence to establish her court. 
This time the journey w^as not according to the code, for 
Napoleon had wished the Empress to remain in Paris during 
his absence, and it was only at the last moment that, over- 
come by her grief, he consented that she go with him in his 
carriage. Only a single maid accompanied her — the royal 
household not being able to start its cumbersome self for 
several days. At Mayence Josephine remained until Janu- 
ary. Hortense, now Queen of Holland (Louis had been 
made King in 1806), was with her, with her two little sons, 
and in many w^ays the court was agreeable; but Josephine 
wished to join the Emperor, and it was only w-hen he com- 
manded her to go to Paris, that she consented to return and 
open her court there. 

The tact and good sense with which Josephine conducted 
herself in her exacting and slavish position — the grace and 
patience with which she wore her royal harness, are as pa- 
thetic as they are marvelous. To rule her household, with 
all the jealousies and meannesses natural to such a combi- 


nation of women, so that there would be no scandals, and 
that the members would respect and love her, was a delicate 
task; but she never failed in it. She kept their love, and 
she kept her supremacy— even the supremacy of beauty. 
There were many of the young women received by the First 
Consul who were glad enough to try to outshine Josephine ; 
but she almost always outwitted them. An amusing 
example of her skill is an encounter that occurred between 
her and her sister-in-law, Pauline. Pauline, who was 
young, vivacious, and very pretty, always resented a little 
the charm that Josephine exercised, and she took no small 
pleasure in trying to outdo her. In 1803, she was mar- 
ried to the Prince Borghese, at the chateau of Joseph Bona- 
parte, Mortefontaine. A few days after her marriage, she 
appeared in Paris, where she was presented officially at 
St. Cloud. It was natural enough that Pauline should de- 
sire to outshine everybody at this presentation, but Josephine 
desired particularly that she herself should not be so thrown 
into the shadow that Napoleon would notice it. She did a 
very clever thing. Although it was winter, she put on a 
light robe of white Indian muslin, the garment which always 
became her best and in which Napoleon delighted to see her. 
The gown was made very simply, and her only ornaments 
were enamelled lion's heads which caught up the sleeves on 
her shoulder and which formed a buckle to her girdle. Her 
arms and neck were bare, and her hair was done on the top 
of her head. She made an altogether charming picture; 
and when the First Consul saw her, he said, " Why, Jo- 
sephine, what does this mean ? I am jealous, you have got- 
ten yourself up for somebody. What makes you so beauti- 
ful to-day?" Even after they were in the salon, his com- 
pliments continued. The Princess Borghese was a little late 
in arriving. When she did appear, she was resplendent; 
her dress was a bright green velvet, embroidered with dia- 


monds ; at her side was a great bouquet of brilliants ; on her 
head, a diadem of emeralds and diamonds. Josephine in her 
simple robe stood at the end of the salon waiting exactly as 
if she had been a sovereign, to let her sister-in-law come to 
her. Pauline was obliged to go the length of the salon to 
salute her. After the presentation, she said to Madame 
Junot, who tells the story, *' My sister-in-law thought she 
would be disagreeable when she made me cross the salon ; in 
fact, she delighted me, because otherwise the train of my 
gown could not have been seen.** Presently, however, Pau- 
line w^as thrown into despair. She had forgotten entirely 
that the grand salon where they were received was furnished 
in blue, and that while it made a charming background for 
Josephine's white muslin, for her green velvet it was some- 
thing deplorable. Josephine, of course, could not be accused 
of having planned this : it was Pauline's own forgetfulness 
which had wrought her confusion. The white gown and 
the regal manner were a favorite device of Josephine when 
she suspected that some young and fascinating woman was 
preparing to outshine her. 

One very difficult task for Josephine in her court was 
holding her own with the women of noble birth who were 
gradually being admitted, but she did it by a combination of 
graciousness, deference, and majesty which was not to be 
analyzed, and which only an all but infinite tact explain. It 
was tact born of good-will — a good-will which everybody 
about her admitted. " No one ever denied the exquisite 
goodness of Madame Bonaparte," Mile. Avrillon says. 
'* She was extremely affable with everybody about her. I 
do not believe that there ever was a woman who made her 
companions feel their dependence less than she." Madame 
de Remusat says that to goodness she joined a remarkably 
even disposition, and the faculty of forgetting any evil that 
anv one had done to her. Another member of her house- 


hold has said of her goodness, that it was as inseparable 
from her character as grace from her person; "she was 
good to excess, sensitive beyond all expression, generous to 
prodigality ; she tried to make everybody happy about her, 
and no woman was ever more loved by those who served her 
and merited it more. ... As she had known unhappiness, 
she knew how to sympathize with the troubles of others. 
Her temper was always sweet, always even, as obliging for 
her enemies as for her friends; she made peace wherever 
there was trouble or discord." 

Josephine was no less happy when on her journeys than at 
home. She won everybody. No one was presented who 
did not go away feeling that in some way the Empress had 
especially distinguished him. As a matter of fact, she pre- 
pared herself carefully for her meetings with foreigners by 
employing an instructor who informed her about their fami- 
lies, their deeds, their books, their diplomatic victories. She 
mastered this instruction so thoroughly that she always had 
some flattering reference at her tongue's end. The diligence 
and energy she showed in preparing herself for official func- 
tions is the more surprising when one remembers her nat- 
ural indolence. 

Josephine had few resources in which she could find relief 
from her burden of etiquette. She cared little for books — 
out-of-door sports wearied her, and the hunt, on which she 
often accompanied the Emperor, was a sore trial. She was 
afraid, to begin with, and she never failed to cry over a 
wounded beast. She was a poor musician. She embroid- 
ered, to be sure, but not because she cared for it, she did like 
cards, and played tric-trac whenever etiquette allowed it. 
She played a good hand of whist, too; and she was very 
fond of telling her own fortune with cards — hardly a day 
passed, indeed, that she did not try to read the future from 


The one real pleasure in her life was undoubtedly her 
toilet. She had always beeti extravagantly fond of personal 
decoration — she loved brilliant stones, gay silks, fine laces, ^ 
soft cashmeres; and when she found herself an Empress, 
with every reason and every opportunity for indulging her 
love of finery, she abandoned herself to the pleasure until 
her wardrobe became the chief amusement of her life. 

Almost every day men and women, bearing stuffs of all 
sorts — jewels, models, laces, ever\lhing, in short, that 
French fancy could devise for a woman's toilet — found their 
way to Josephine's private apartments. Before these wily 
tradespeople she had no self-restraint — one should say, per- 
haps, no self-respect, — for almost invariably she allowed 
herself to be wheedled into buying. The numbers of pieces 
added to her wardrobe each year indicates a startling 
prodigality. Thus, in one year, she bought one hundred 
and thirty-six dresses, twenty cashmere shawls, seventy- 
three corsets, forty-eight pieces of elegant stuffs, eighty- 
seven hats, seventy-one pairs of silk stockings, nine hundred 
and eighty pairs of gloves, five hundred and twenty pairs of 
shoes. If this had been an unusual purchase, it might be 
explained ; but it was not. With every season there was the 
same thoughtless buying of all that struck her fancy. It was 
out of the question for her to wear all she bought, for Jo- 
sephine was not one who prided herself on never appearing 
twice in the same costume. Many of the things she bought 
she never put on at all ; and when her wardrobes were over- 
burdened, she made a little fete of the task of lightening 
them, giving away piece after piece of uncut lace, pattern 
after pattern of velvet, silk or muslin, rich gowns, hats, 
stockings, shoes. Anything and everything was scattered 
in the same reckless fashion in which it had been acquired. 
Not that her giving of personal articles was confined to this 
occasional clearing out of stock ; she gave as one of her royal 


prerogatives, whenever it pleased her to do so. Often she 
took from her shoulders a delicatfe scarf or superb cashmere 
shawl to throw about some one of her ladies whom she heard 
admiring it, and not infrequently she sent a gown to one who 
had complimented her on its beauty. Mile. Ducrest says that 
one day she heard a gentleman of the household, in admiring 
a cashmere gown which the Empress wore, remark that the 
pattern would do very well for a waistcoat. Josephine picked 
up a pair of scissors, and cutting the skirt of her dress into 
three pieces, gave one to each of the three gentlemen in the 

Josephine's prodigality caused great confusion in her 
budget. She was allowed, at the beginning of her reign, 
$72,000 a year for her toilet, and later this was increased to 
$90,000. But there was never a year during the time that 
she did not far over-reach her allowance and oblige the Em- 
peror to come to her relief. According to the estimate Mas- 
son has made, Josephine spent on an average $220,000 
yearly on her toilet during her reign. It is only by going 
over her wardrobe article by article and noting the cost and 
number of each piece that one can realize how a woman could 
spend this amount. Take the simple item of her hose — which 
were almost always white silk, often richly embroidered or 
in open work. She kept 150 or more pairs on hand, and 
they cost from $4.00 to $8.00 a pair. She employed two 
hair-dressers — one for every-day, at $1,200 a year; the other 
for great occasions, at $2,000 a year; and she paid them 
each from one thousand to two thousand dollars a year for 
furnishings. It was the same for all the smaller items of 
her toilet. 

Coming to gowns, the sums they cost were enormous. 
Her simple muslin gowns, of which her wardrobe always 
contained two hundred and more, cost from one hundred to 
four hundred dollars apiece. Her cashmere and velvet 


gowns were much more costly, ornamented as many of them 
were with ermine and with buckles, buttons, and girdles set 
with preci^s stones. One of her great extravagances was 
cashmere shawls. She never had enough of them — it is 
true she gave away many — and she rarely appeared without 
one within reach. Her collection of shawls is said to have 
been the most valuable ever seen in Europe. Many of them 
were made after patterns which she sent herself to the 
Orient. They were of every delicate shade of color, and in 
texture they were like gossamer. Her coquetry with these 
beautiful drapes was like the coquetry of the Spanish sig- 
nora with a fan. She said everything with them. 

A large lump of Josephine's yearly allowance for dress 
went into jewels. Her extravagance in this particular was 
less justifiable than in any other, because she already owned 
a large quantity of precious stones of all sorts when she be- 
came Empress, many of them gifts to her in Italy, and be- 
cause as Empress she had at her command the magnificent 
crown jewels — $1,000,000 worth of gems, in fact, were hers 
when she wished. Nevertheless, she bought^-evidently for 
the mere pleasure of buying and laying away — innumerable 
ornaments of every description, scores of which she probably 
never put on; rings, bracelets, necklaces, girdles, buckles, 
all by the hundreds. No stone known to commerce but 
was represented in her collection. No form into which 
gold and silver can be fashioned which was not found there. 
She had specimens of the ornaments of all ages and all 
countries, and of the novelties of the times she bought by 
the score. She not only added incessantly, but she ex- 
changed, reset, recut, carried on, in fact, a trade. To the 
end of her life she kept her interest in her jewels, and loved 
to show them to her companions, to play with them, to deco- 
rate herself with them. They were kept together for many 
years after her death, but were finally sold by Hortcnse. 


When experts came to value them, it was found that accord- 
ing to the prices they set — fully one-third below the cost 
price — the large pieces alone, such as her diadem of dia- 
monds and her splendid pearl necklace, were worth nearly a 
million dollars; and as for the small pieces — the innumer- 
able trinkets of every size and kind and style — their value 
was never computed. 

The effect on the Emperor of Josephine's prodigality can 
be imagined. He appreciated as she never could the lack 
of dignity in her reckless spending, and did his utmost to 
persuade her to keep her accounts in order. He even re- 
sorted to severe measures, turning out of the palace trades- 
people who he knew hung about her apartments watching an 
opportunity to show her a novelty in modes or in ornamenta- 
tion, a rare jewel or a rich shawl. He ordered that her ex- 
penses be regulated by a person especially appointed for that 
purpose and that Josephine herself be not allowed to buy 
anything without supervision. None of these means effected 
anything. Annually there was a great debt run up by her, 
and when the settlement could be put off no longer, Jose- 
phine would confess. She always put the amount far below 
what it actually was, and only after much badgering could 
Napoleon get at the real state of things. Then there was a 
scene, ending always in tears from Josephine. Invariably 
they conquered Napoleon. ** Come, come, pet, dry your 
tears," he would beg, *' don't worry ; '' and he paid the debts, 
and raised her income. In twelve months the scene was re- 



FOR two years after she mounted the throne, Josephine 
felt tolerably secure in its possession. It was not 
until the winter of 1806- 1807, when Napoleon was 
busy with war against Russia and Prussia, that the spectre 
which had alarmed her at the beginning of the Life Con- 
sulate and again at the proclamation of the Empire, arose 
again. Her first alarm came from the fact that when she 
wanted to go to the Emperor from Mayence, whither she 
had taken her household, he put her off. Sometimes he 
even rebuked her for her persistence in clinging to the idea. 
** Talleyrand comes, and tells me that you do nothing but 
cry,*' he wrote her on November ist. *' But what do you 
want? You have your daughter, your grandchildren, and 
good news ; certainly you have the materials for happiness 
and contentment." More often he flattered and petted, as 
when, on November 28th, he wrote from Warsaw : ** All the 
Polish women are Frenchwomen, but there is only one wo- 
man for me. Do you know her ? I could draw her portrait 
for you ; but I should have to flatter it too much for you to 
recognize it ; nevertheless, to tell the truth, my heart would 
have only good things to tell you." And again, a few days 
later : " I have vour letter of November 26th. I notice two 
things : you say, * I don't read your letters ' ; that is unjust. I 
am sorry for your bad opinion. You tell me you are not 



jealous. I have long observed that people who are angry 
always say that they are not angry, that people who are 
afraid say they are not afraid ; so you are convicted of jeal- 
ousy; I am delighted! Besides, you are mistaken, and in 
the deserts of fair Poland one thinks but little alx)ut pretty 
women. Yesterday I was at a ball of the nobility of the 
province; rather pretty women, rather rich, rather ill 
dressed, although in the Paris fashion." He continued all 
through December to try to dissuade her. ** I have your 
letter of November 27th, and I see that your little head is 
much excited. I remember the line : * A woman's wish is a 
devouring flame,' and I must calm you. I wrote to you that I 
was in Poland, that when we should have got into winter 
quarters you might come; so you must wait a few days. 
The greater one becomes, the less will one must have ; one 
depends on events and circumstances. You may go to 
Frankfurt or Darmstadt. I hope to summon you in a few 
days, but events must decide. The warmth of your letter 
convinces me that you pretty women take no account of ob- 
stacles ; what you want must be ; but I must say that I am 
the greatest slave that lives ; my master has no heart, and 
this master is the nature of things.'' 

Josephine would not give up her plan, however, and in 
Napoleon's arguments that the trip from Mayence to War- 
saw was too long — the roads too bad, the weather too cold, 
for her to venture it, that she was needed in Paris, she saw 
only a desire to be free from her presence ; and when finally 
he ordered her to ** go back to Paris to be happy and con- 
tented there," she obeyed with tears and lamentations. Jo- 
sephine's jealousy at this time was more than justifiable. 
For many months, in fact, she had known beyond question 
of Napoleon's various infidelities, and she suspected that the 
real reason he refused her request to be allowed to go to him 
was that he had found a new mistress. Or might it not be, 


she asked herself, that he was planning a divorce and re-mar- 
riage. The first supposition was true. It was Madame 
Walewski who was the chief obstacle to Josephine going to 
Warsaw, although the reasons Napoleon gave — the danger 
of the journey and the need of Josephine in Paris — were 
plausible enough at the moment. 

It was not until July, 1807, that the Emperor took up the 
subject of a divorce, as a political necessity, with his coun- 
sellors. While at Tilsit with the Emperor of Russia and the 
King of Prussia, the divorce was discussed, and Naix)leon 
ordered that a list of the marriageable princesses of Europe 
be made out for him. No doubt vague rumors of the trans- 
actions at Tilsit reached Josephine. She took them the more 
to heart because in May of that year ( 1807) Hortense's eld- 
est son, Napoleon-Charles, had died. The death of the boy 
destroyed one of her chief hopes. It removed the child 
whom she knew Napoleon so loved that he would have been 
well satisfied to have made him his successor. Hortense 
had a second child, Napoleon-Louis; but the Emperor did 
not have the same feeling for him. 

When Napoleon returned to Paris after the meeting at 
Tilsit, Josephine was prepared to do all that was possible to 
reconquer the place in her husband's heart, which many 
months' absence had certainly weakened. She even had 
Hortense's little son Louis with her, a constant reminder to 
the Empire that here was an heir of Bonaparte and Beauhar- 
nais blood. Her hopes were soon shattered by Fouche, who 
made an appeal to her. For the sake of the country, the dy- 
nasty. Napoleon, would she not herself voluntarily offer to 
withdraw. Panicstricken, yet not daring to go directly to 
her husband to know if this was his will, Josephine could 
only weep. Napoleon saw her sorrow, but had not the cour- 
age to talk with her. Finally Talleyrand, taking the case in 
hand, persuaded Josephine to speak first to Napoleon. Over- 


come completely, the Emperor feigned amazement, stormed 
at the baseness of Fouche, wept over Josephine, swore he 
could not leave her; but he did not deceive her — or himself. 
Josephine took a clever course — she told him she would con- 
sent to his will quietly for love of him and for the sake of 
the throne — if he commanded her. But that Napoleon could 
not do. He ordered that the question of divorce be dropped, 
gave Fouche such treatment as perhaps a man never before 
received for carrying out his superior's will, and for a time 
bestowed upon Josephine lover-like attentions so marked 
that the whole court looked on and wondered. 

The fall of 1807 the Emperor strove to make very gay, 
and during the sojourns at Rambouillet for the hunt and the 
month at Fontainebleau the Empress was really at the height 
of her power. He could not give her up, could not, in spite 
of his dynasty, in spite of Mme. Walewski, the woman who 
had sacrificed herself to him for the sake of Poland, and 
for whom he had a great respect as well as ardent passion. 
Josephine was necessary to him. It was a tenderness born 
of association — of all of the thousand sweet ties which 
twelve years of life together had wrought. What matter if 
she was growing old; what matter that he might have a 
royal princess for his wife — that his heart was with Mme. 
Walewski, it was Josephine, and no one ever had aroused 
such a wealth of tenderness as she — no one could again. 
The court could only look on and wonder to see the weak- 
ness of the tyrant before this woman. They even noted 
how jealous he was of her that fall, when the young German 
prince of Mecklenburg- Schwerin fell in love with her and 
did not hesitate to show it. Josephine herself laughed at the 
young man's ardor, but Napoleon looked askance and 
doubled his tenderness. 

The winter of 1807 and 1808 was spent in Paris, and 
the shadow was not large. It was true that Mme. Walewski 


was now in the city ; but if Josephine knew anything of this 
liaison, she ignored it completely. So long as she was Em- 
press infidelities had little effect on her. Mme. de Remusat 
says that not only did Josephine shut her eyes to them, but 
she " pushed her complacency to the point of granting par- 
ticular favors to some of his mistresses/' In the spring and 
summer her hold on the Emperor seemed to herself and to 
those about her to have been strengthened by the four and 
a half months which the two spent with only a small suite at 
Bayonne, where the Emperor's presence was necessary to 
direct the affairs with Spain. Napoleon had preceded the 
Empress, who waited in Bordeaux for news of Hortense. to 
whom a third son was born on April 20, 1808. The news 
brought great joy to Josephine, and no doubt had some- 
thing to do wMth her happiness in the next few months. It 
provided a second heir, and made divorce seem less impera- 

In spite of the sinister events of the sojourn at Bayonne — 
it was here that the King of Spain, Charles IV., and his heir, 
Ferdinand, abdicated their rights and that Joseph Bonaparte 
was made King of Spain — there was much gaiety around Jo- 
sephine. There were dinners and fetes and drives, and the 
French Empress and the Sj)anish Queen Louise seemed to 
enjoy each other's society as if a throne were not changing 
hands and a noble house falling, because of the disgraceful 
inaction and jealousy of one ruler and the cynical ambition 
and self-confidence of the other. 

The really delightful part of Josephine's life at Bayonne 
was the informal intimacy which she and Napoleon enjoyed. 
Never since the days at Malmaison had they been together 
so long and so freely. They made the most of their liberty, 
even romping before the eyes of the members of their small 
suite in a most unroyal way. The Castle of Marrac, which 
they occupied, was near the shore, and they spent much time 


on the beach, where the Emperor, dragging the Empress to 
the water, would push her into it or dash sand over her, 
laughing like a teasing boy as he did so. In one of these 
romps the little, low silk slippers which the Empress always 
wore slipped off, and Napoleon, seizing them, threw them 
into the surf, making Josephine walk back to her carriage 
in stocking feet. It was with such frolics that the two en- 
livened the days at Marrac, in the summer of 1808. Their 
journey back to Paris was a triumphal procession, wherein 
Josephine, by her tact, her amiability, her unflagging in- 
terest, won everv heart. Never had she seemed more ad- 
mirable to Napoleon as an Empress, never more charming 
as a woman. 

It was in August, 1808, that Josephine returned to Paris, 
after four and a half months with her husband. A few 
days later, he left her for Erfurth, where he was to meet 
Alexander of Russia and the German sovereigns, for a con- 
ference on the affairs of Europe. At a gathering of the 
magnitude and splendor of this at Erfurth it would have 
been fitting that the Empress be present, but Napoleon did 
not deem it wise for her to leave France. That Napoleon 
meant to indicate by leaving her at home that his decision 
to have a divorce was taken and that this was the beginning 
of the separation is not clear, though it is certain that the 
subject was much in his mind at Erfurth. The stability 
an heir would give to his throne and the value of an alliance 
with one of the old houses of Europe, now became clearer 
than ever to him, and undoubtedly Napoleon came back to 
Josephine with the idea more firmly fixed in mind than be- 
fore. Those who saw them together after Erfurth said to 
themselves, ** He is meditating the divorce again." Jo- 
sephine feared it. What else could mean his short brusque 
remarks, his evident desire to escape her company, his 
averted eyes. 


Dread the future as she might, she could do nothing. To. 
question Napoleon was to irritate him, and nothing, she 
knew, was more unwise. To show a sad face, to weep, was 
to drive him from her presence, for he detested tears with 
all the force of the strong reasoning controlled creature who 
sees nothing but a meaningless waste of strength in them. 
She knew too well the empire of Xapoleon over all those 
alx>ut him to attempt to build up a party of her own that at 
the issue would throw its influence in her favor. There 
was but one thing to oppose to the imperious will of her 
husband — his affecticm for her. To cherish that, doing 
nothing of which he could complain, nothing which would 
irritate or weary him; to show him at every meeting her 
amiability, her devoticm, her tact, to win fn^m him the 
confession that no woman could fill more gracefully and 
successfully than she was doing her difficult position, — this 
was Josephine's course, and the one which she followed 
ceaselessly after the interview in 1807. Certainly the fear 
was continuallv in her heart after Erfurth, but to him she 
gave no sign. She was gentle, apparently trusting ; tactful, 
and cautious — the very qualities which Napoleon admired 
most in women and found rarest. Everv dav of intercourse 
made it harder for him to come to a resolution, and every 
day increased her own anxiety. 

It was only ten days after Erfurth that the war in Spain 
compelled Xapi^Ieon to leave Paris. Josephine was left 
alone. There was little in the letters she received from 
Spain to disturb her peace of mind; as always, they gave 
her details of the Emperor's health, expressed concern for 
hers, gave brief bits of news — optimistic always; rarely a 
word of a disaster was put into a letter to Josephine — direc- 
tions about fetes, about the reception of i)ersons to be sent to 
her, comments and inquiries on family matters : such letters, 
in short, as she had always received. Yet there was an un- 


easiness in Josephine's mind which she could not conquer; 
— it was fed by rumors from idle and more or less malicious 
tongues in her circle. 

It was not only the uncertainty of her own fate which 
distressed her; she had further reason for grief in the un- 
happiness of Hortense, who had been reconciled with her 
husband for a time, but was now more wTetched than ever, 
and whose frequent letters to Josephine must have cut her 
to the heart again and again. Her tenderness and her 
wisdom in her councils to her daughter at this time, indeed 
at all times, are admirable. It would not have been surpris- 
ing if in receiving daily the complaints of Hortense, at a mo- 
ment of so much uneasiness regarding her true situation, 
she had resented the misery of her daughter; but there is 
never a shadow of irritation in her letters. 

In January, Josephine had the joy of seeing Napoleon 
return. For the two months and a half he was in Paris she 
watched him closely, but to no purpose. Indeed public af- 
fairs were in such a condition that the Emperor had little or 
no time to give her. He was working day and night in a 
frenzied effort to clear France of the traitors who, within 
his government, indeed within his own family, were plot- 
ting his overthrow, and to put an army in order for the war 
he saw Austria and her allies preparing for him. There 
was no time in the winter of 1808 and 1809 for the con- 
sideration of divorce and marriage, and if a decision for a 
divorce had been taken at Erfurth, the realization was far 
enough off. To all outward appearances, Josephine was 
safe. She was gratified, too, when the day of the Emperor's 
departure came in April, by being allowed to accompany 
him as far as Strasburg, where she set up her court for the 
next few months. Here were soon gathered about her sev- 
eral of the family: Hortense, with her two little sons, the 
Queen of Westphalia, and the Grand Duchess of Baden. 


Here she received from the Emperor himself the first news 
of the succession of victories with which the campaign of 
1809 opened. First it was Abensberg, then Eckmuhl, then 
Ratisbonne, that he recounted to her. It was a triumphal 
march, as always; but at Ratisbonne something happened 
which threw Josephine into consternation. Napoleon was 
hit by a ball. The news came to the Empress indirectly, 
and she hurriedly sent a courier to find out the actual con- 
dition of the wound. ** The ball which hit me did not 
wound me," he replied, *' it scarcely grazed Achilles* heel. 
My health is very good. It is wrong for you to worry. 
Everything is going well.'' 

Four days later, the Empress received a special courier 
from the Emperor, who announced to her the surrender of 
Vienna. Josephine was very hap])y. It argued well for a 
speedy end to the campaign. Iler happiness was brief. The 
defeat at Essling, and the death of Marshall Lannes, filled 
her with foreboding. She, with many others of her day, 
looked on the career of the Em])eror with superstitious awe. 
It was luck — a star. The charm broken, the star obscured, 
all would go. It is doubtful if Josephine, any more than 
hundreds of others who surrounded the Emperor, ever 
realized his stupendous genius or the gigantic efforts the 
man made to wrest victories from fate. It was the common 
story of one who spends himself in achievement, and in the 
end hears himself called a ** lucky fellow ". After the de- 
feat at Essling, Jose])hine discerned on every side the joy of 
Napoleon's enemies, saw the alarm of his friends, heard in 
her own heart the knell of fate. To complete her misery, 
she feared she had offended the Emperor. Hortense, who 
had been at Strasburg for some time, was ordered by her 
physician to go to Baden for the waters. It was the Em- 
peror's order that no one of the royal family should change 
quarters without his consent. Hortense went )to Baden 


without consulting him, taking with her the two young 
princes. The Emperor was irritated. " My daughter," he 
wrote her less than a week after Essling, *' I am dissatisfied 
to find that you have left France without my permission, 
and above all that you have taken my nephews away. Since 
you are at Baden, stay ; but within an hour after you receive 
this letter, send my two nephews to Strasburg to the Em- 
press. They must never leave France. It is the first time I 
have had any occasion to be dissatisfied with you, but you 
should never make any arrangements for my nephews with- 
out my consent. You must feel the bad effect that would 

This letter was sent to Hortense through Josephine, who 
opened it, thinking to have news herself from Napoleon, 
about whom she was greatly concerned. It was a new 
cause of worry. Would he not blame her for Hortense's act? 
At least the two children had already been sent back to her 
— that was one reason for congratulation ; but she hastened 
to write to Hortense urging her to try and appease the Em- 
peror. Her anxiety became so great that her health began 
to give way, and she, too, had to leave Strasburg, in June, 
for treatment at Plombieres, in the Vosges. 

Josephine had been frequently before at Plombieres, but 
certainly never before so quietly since she was Empress. 
The usual suite accompanied her, the same imposing livery, 
the same magnificent wardrobe, but no reception, no balls, 
no excursions marked her sojourn. She lived like a retired 
Empress almost — scattering charities everywhere, and 
amusing herself principally with her little grandsons, upon 
whom she lavished toys of every description in the profusion 
and extravagance with which she had always heaped jewels 
and finery upon herself. Daily she enjoyed Louis more. 
" I am so happy to have your son here," she wrote Hortense. 
" He is charming, and I am becoming more and more at- 

Eneraved by Audo 
do Frantaii, reiat d'lialie," is surrounded by an elaborai 
emblems. After the divorce. Jotephini 
■nd tbal of Marie Louise inserted. 


tached to him. . . . His little reasonings amuse me 

The rapid recovery of fortune which followed the reverse 
at Essling soon reassured Josephine. She saw from Na- 
poleon's letters that, however his critics might feel that his 
star was waning, he himself had not lost courage. He 
scorned their exultation. " They have made an appoint- 
ment to meet at my tomb/' he said, ** but they'll not dare 
carry it out.*' His deeds verified his words. In rapid suc- 
cession, he sent Josephine announcements of the series of 
victories which marked the latter half of June, 1809, and 
which culminated in Wagram on July 6th. A week later 
she received notice of the suspension of hostilities. 

Once more the Empress breathed freely; Napoleon was 
safe, and he was victorious. Now his letters were longer, 
gayer, tenderer than they had been for many months. He 
rejoiced in the reports she sent him from Plombieres of her 
gaining strength. ** I am glad the waters are doing you so 
much good," he wrote; and again, "I hear that you are 
stout, rosy, and looking very well." He made no objection 
to the plans she suggested for herself. Stay at Plombieres 
if she wished, why not ; and when she is ready in August, 
go to Paris. If her letters are long in coming, he chides 
her. " I have received no letters from you for several days. 
The pleasures at Malmaison, the beautiful hot-houses and 
gardens, make you forget me. That's the way it goes, they 
say." As the time approached for his return — the negotia- 
tions at Schonbrunn which followed the war lasted into 
October — he began to show something like eagerness 
Every day he sent a brief note of his coming return. ** I'll 
let you know twenty-four hours before my arrival." " I 
shall make a fete of our reunion. I am waiting for the mo- 
ment impatiently." True, there was nothing of the lover in 
these daily bulletins (it was hardly to be expected when we 


remember that, during most of the campaign of 1809, Mme. 
de Walewski was living in a palace in Vienna, where Napo- 
leon saw her constantly) ; but there was confidence, affec- 
tion, interest; no sign at all of an approaching separation; 
and yet Napoleon undoubtedly left Schcinbrunn in October 
persuaded that the divorce was a necessity and resolved to 
tell Josephine of his decision as soon as he arrived in France. 





UNHAPPILY for the Empress, her reunion with Na- 
poleon was marred by a delay which irritated the 
Emperor no little. Josephine was at St. Cloud 
when she received a note, about October 24th or 25th, from 
Napoleon, saying he would be at Fontainebleau on the 26th 
or 27th, and that she had better go there with her suite. A 
later courier set the evening of the 27th as the time of his 
arrival. What was Josephine's terror on having a mes- 
senger ride rapidly in from Fontainebleau on the afternoon 
of the 26th, saying the Emperor had arrived that morning 
and there had been no one but the concierge to meet him! 
It could not be denied that such a reception was a poor one 
for a conquering Emperor who now for the first time in 
six months set foot in his kingdom. Josephine feared, with 
reason, that Napoleon would be irritated, and now of all 
times when she needed so much to please him! 

Post haste she drove to Fontainebleau. The Emperor 
did not come to meet her, and she was forced to mount to his 
library, where his scant welcome chilled her to the heart. 
He meant to announce the divorce then. She soon found, 
however, that it was the Emperor's resentment at what he 
considered her fault in failing to meet him that caused his 
coldness. A trembling explanation, a few tears, and he was 
appeased, and they passed a happy evening. 



Napoleon had taken quite another means, and a most dis- 
quieting one, to hint to Josephine that the divorce was under 
consideration. The apartments of the Emperor and Em- 
press at Fontainebleau, as at other i)laces, were ccnmected 
by a private staircase. When Josephine looked about her 
suite, which had been newly decorated, she discovered that 
this passage had been sealed up. In consternation, she 
sought a friend of hers in Napoleon's household, and asked 
why this had been done, by whose orders. She could get 
-no satisfaction, nothing but evasive answers, halting ex- 
planations. Alarmed, yet fearing to approach the Emperor, 
she showed a troubled face and tear-stained eves. Now, 
nothing ever had disturbed Napoleon more than to see Jo- 
sephine in sorrow. The sight, and the knowledge of the 
cause, unnerved him now. He took a course characteristic 
of an autocratic man, accustomed to implicit obedience from 
associates, when he has determined to force some one he 
loves to do a distasteful act ; he avoided Josephine's pres- 
ence, scarcely ever exchanged a word with her that the eti- 
quette of the court did not require, rarely met her gaze. 
The Empress felt that his coldness could mean but one 
thing. She soon began to hear whispers of the decision 
in the court, for the Emperor had made his resolution 
known to several persons, and the necessary preparations 
were already making. Josephine could not but see, at the 
same time, that her enemies — the Bonaparte family and their 
allies — and those about her who were mere time-servers had 
changed materially in their attitude toward her. There was 
more than one lord or lady who did not hesitate to neglect, 
even slight, the Empress. She was a person whom it was 
no longer necessary to cultivate ; and, besides, might not the 
Emperor take it as a compliment to his judgment to see 
that she whom he was to discard was ignored by his fol- 
lowers ? 


Josephine's uncertainty as to precisely what the divorce 
meant made her alarm the greater. She undoubtedly saw 
in it at this time nothing but a disgrace and a punishment. 
She was to be cast out — her honors stripped from her, her 
friends driven away, her luxury at an end. Not only must 
she be separated from the Emperor, whom she loved and to 
whose happiness and success she believed superstitiously 
that she was necessarv; but no doubt she would be driven 
from France. She saw herself in exile, poor, friendless, 
alone, — she who had been the Empress of France, the consort 
of Napoleon. And her children : her downfall meant theirs. 
Hortense, whose happiness had been wrecked by her mar- 
riage, what now would become of her ? And Eugene, whom 
the Emperor had so loved and trusted and honored, what of 

But Josephine's idea of the divorce as a disgrace and 
punishment was not Napoleon's. That he had never ex- 
plained to her what he meant, was due to his own cowardice. 
In 1807, he had succumbed entirely, when the subject came 
up, and put the thought aside. Now he clung to his de- 
cision, but lacked courage to break it to her. He feigned 
irritation and coldness to hide his own faint-heartedness. 

As a matter of fact, Napoleon regarded the divorce as a 
great state aflfair. To perpetuate France's i^eace. stability, 
glory, an heir was necessary; therefore he and Josephine 
who loved each other parted. They suffered that France 
might live. The divorce then, w^as to be regarded as a sac- 
rificial rite, and Josephine was to be placed before the coun- 
try as a noble victim to whom the greatest honor then and 
ever should be shown. Such was Napoleon's idea, and 
quietly, in this month after his return from Schonbrunn, he 
was preparing a ceremony which would put the affair in this 
light to the country. It was for this reason he summoned 
all the members of the Bonaparte and Beauharnais families 


from far and near ; that he gathered in France all that was 
great in the Empire and among his allies; that he made 
Fontainebleau a veritable court of kings. To poor Josephine 
all of this looked like a cruel device to parade her grief and 

About the middle of November, the court came to Paris ; 
but still the Emperor delayed, he could not say the word. 
The constraint between the two became constantly greater; 
the suflfering of both, it was evident to all their intimate 
friends, was increasing. At last, on November 30th, after 
a silent and wretched dinner, Napoleon led Josephine into 
a salon, dismissed their followers, and told her of his de- 
cision. Josephine grasping nothing in his broken words 
but that they were to be separated, burst into tears, and fell 
upon a couch, where she lay sobbing aloud. She was carried 
to her apartment, where her attendants vainly sought to 
check her wild grief. Nor was her calm restored until late 
in the evening, when Hortense came to her with an explana- 
tion of the situation, which seems to have been entirelv new 
to her mind. The Emperor, overwhelmed by Josephine's 
outburst, had strengthened his own mind by summoning 
immediately to his side certain advisors who favored the 
divorce. After talking with them, he had sent for Hor- 
tense, and begun rather brutally by telling her that tears 
would do no good, that he had made up his mind that the 
divorce was necessary to the safety of the Empire, and that 
she and her mother must accept it as inevitable. Hortense 
replied with dignity that the Empress, whatever her grief, 
would obey his will, and that she and Eugene would follow 
her into exile; that none of them would complain at their 
disgrace, that all would remember his past kindness. This 
seems to have been Napoleon's first glimmer of the idea of 
the divorce which the Beauharnais entertained. He began to 
weep. " What ! " he cried, " do you and Eugene mean to 


desert me? You must not do it, you must stay with me. 
Your position, the future of your children, require it. How- 
ever cruel the divorce for both your mother and me, it must 
be consummated with the dignity which the circumstances 
require." Everything which could be done to soften the 
situation for Josephine should be done, he said. She should 
remain the first in rank after the Empress on the throne. 
She should receive the honors due her sacrifice; she should 
remain in France. Her income should be fit for her rank, 
she should be given palaces, a retinue — all that a grateful 
France could do, in short, should be done. As for Hor- 
tense and Eugene, he looked upon them as his children, and 
should do for them as he would for his own. 

This new idea of her fate had great effect on Josephine; 
and when her friends came to her to console her, weep as 
she might, she defended Napoleon, and presented the di- 
vorce as a sacrifice which they were together making for 
France. ** The Emperor is as nearly heart-broken as I am," 
she sobbed. " It cannot be helped. There must be an heir 
to consolidate the Empire/* 

Now that Josephine knew his decision. Napoleon's re- 
serve and coldness passed. He gave her every attention, 
tried to anticipate every wish, enveloped her in tenderness. 
This change of demeanor surprised and confused the court, 
where as yet the divorce was a matter of conjecture to all 
save Napoleon's confidential advisors. Had he changed his 
mind? As they saw the Empress smilingly going through 
the great fetes, they began to say that after all he had not 
had the courage to make the separation. Napoleon's 
kindly attitude seems to have given Josephine a hope that 
he had changed his mind. But a week after her interview 
with him, Eugene arrived in Paris, and she knew soon that 
divorce was inevitable and that the first steps were already 
taken to consummate it. Another distressing interview be- 


tween herself and the Emperor followed, at which Eugene 
was present, and here again Napoleon promised her his care, 
his affection, a continued interest in her children. When 
she left this interview, she knew that in a few days more the 
court, Paris, France, would know of her fate. Overwhelmed 
as she was, weak with constant weeping in private, a prey 
to a hundred unreasonable fears as to her future, Josephine 
nevertheless went through her duties in these last days with 
a brave face and a sweet smile. Never did she win more 
favor from the better part of the court; never did she de- 
serve it more than for her courage at this moment. 

December 15th was set for the first act in the official part 
of the drama. At nine o'clock in the morning, Josephine 
went to the salon of the Emperor, accompanied by Eugene 
and Hortense. Here she found assembled all of the mem- 
bers of the Bonaparte family, who were in Paris, Napoleon, 
King Louis, King Jerome, King Murat and the Queens of 
Spain, Naples, and Westphalia, together with the French 
Arch-Chancellor and the Minister of State. The ceremony 
was opened at once by Napoleon. If any of the Bonapartes 
hoped to see Josephine humiliated at last, they must have 
been grievously disappointed. Every word of the Em- 
peror was intended to place her in the eyes of France as its 
chief benefactor and friend — the woman who sacrificed 
herself for the country's good. Napoleon's remarks to the 
little company show exactly the interpretation he wished 
placed on the act, and there is no reason to believe that he 
was not sincere in what he said at this time. In a voice 
broken by agitation, he announced that he and the Empress 
had resolved to have their marriage annulled. Addressing 
the Arch-Chancellor, he said : 

"I sent you a sealed letter dated to-day, directing you to 
come to my study, in order to make known to you the reso- 
lution that the Empress, my most dear wife, and I have 


taken. I am glad that the kings, queens, and princes, my 
brothers and sisters, my brothers-in-law and sisters-in-law, 
my step-daughter and my step-son, my son by adoption, as 
well as my mother, are present at the interview. My pol- 
itics, the interest and need of my i)eople, whicli have always 
guided my actions, make it necessary that I should leave 
children behind me, heirs of m.y love for this people and of 
this throne where providence has placed me. How^ever, I 
have abandoned all hope now for several years of having 
children by my beloved wife, the Empress Josephine. It 
is this which has led me to sacrifice the sweetest affections 
of my heart and to listen only to the idea of the good of the 
State, and consequently to dissolve our marriage. Arrived 
at the age of forty years, I dare hope that I shall live long 
enough to rear, according to my own ideas, the children 
that it shall please Providence to give me. God knows how 
much this resolution has cost me; but there is no sacrifice 
that is beyond my courage when I am convinced that it will 
be useful to France. I must add, that far from ever having 
had any reason to complain of my wife, I can only praise 
her love and tenderness. For fifteen years she has been the 
ornament of mv life. The recollection will alwavs remain 
engraved on my heart; she has been crowned by my hand, 
and I mean that she shall preserve the rank and title of 
Empress, and I hope that above all she will never doubt my 
feelings toward her and that she w^ill always consider me her 
best and truest friend." 

When the Emperor ceased to speak, Josephine attempted 
to read the little address which had been prepared for her, 
but her voice failed her, and she passed her paper to one of 
the party: — 

" With the permission of my august and dear husband," 
so her speech read, " I declare that having given up all hope 
of bearing the children which would satisfy the political 


needs and the welfare of France, I am glad to give to him 
the greatest proof of attachment and devotion which has 
ever been given in this world. All that I have I hold be- 
cause of his goodness ; it was his hand which crowned me, 
and from my throne I have received only affection and love 
from the French people. I believe I am showing my grati- 
tude for these benefits by consenting to the dissolution of a 
marriage which henceforth is an obstacle to the welfare of 
France, which deprives her of the happiness of being one 
day governed by the descendants so evidently raised up by 
Providence to wipe out the evils of a terrible revolution and 
reestablish the altar, throne, and social order ; but the disso- 
lution of my marriage can never change the feelings of my 
heart. In me the Emperor will always have his best friend. 
I know how much this act, demanded by politics and by high 
interests, has wounded his heart, but we both glory in the 
sacrifice that we make for the good of the country." 

The day following this scene, the necessary formalities 
were gone through in the Senate. Eugene, then Viceroy of 
Italy, took the oath of Senator that day, and later spoke on 
the divorce. The interpretation he gave of the separation 
was that which Napoleon had devised. " You have just 
listened to the reading of the project which the Senate sub- 
mits to you for deliberation,'' Eugene said. " Under the 
circumstances, I think that it is my duty to express to you 
the feelings of my family. My mother, my sister, and 
myself owe everything to the Emperor; he has been a veri- 
table father to us; he will find in us at all times devoted 
children and submissive subjects. It is essential to the hap- 
piness of France that the founder of this fourth dynasty 
should be surrounded by direct descendants who will be a 
guarantee to everybody, a safeguard of the people, of the 
country. When my mother was crowned before the whole 
nation by the hands of her august husband, she contracted 


the obligation to sacrifice all her affections to the good of 
France; she has fulfilled her duty with courage, nobility, 
and dignity ; her heart has often been wrung by the painful 
struggles of a man accustomed to conquer fortune and to 
march forward always with a firm step toward the accom- 
plishment of great designs. The tears that this resolution 
has cost the Emperor are sufficient to glorify my mother. 
In her new situation she will not be a stranger to the new 
prosperity that we expect, and it will be with a satisfaction 
mingled with pride that she will look upon the happiness 
that her sacrifices have brought to the country and to the 

The articles annulling the marriage and fixing Josephine's 
future state were passed at the same session. They read : — 

Article /. The marriage contracted between the Emperor 
Napoleon and the Empress Josephine is hereby dissolved. 

Article II. The Empress Josephine will preserve the title 
and the rank of a crowned Empress. 

Article III, Her annual income is fixed at two million 
francs [$400,000], to be paid from the treasury of the 

Article IV. All the obligations taken by the Emperor for 
the Empress Josephine out of the public treasury are ob- 
ligatory upon his successors. 

Article V. The present senatus-consulte shall be sent by 
a messenger to Her Majesty, the Empress Queen. 

That afternoon Napoleon, after a heart-breaking scene 
with Josephine, left the Tuileries for the Trianon. A few 
hours later Josephine, exhausted by weeping, entered her 
carriage, and in a heavy storm was driven to Malmaison. 




ALTHOUGH divorced, Josephine was still Empress of 
the French People, and her income and her posi- 
tion were in keeping with her title. By the decree 
of the Senate, her income was fixed at 2,000,000 francs 
($400,000), but the Emperor found means of increasing 
this, by making her many splendid presents, and by order- 
ing that any unusual outlay, such as that for repairs at Mal- 
maison, be paid from the civil list. She was to have three 
separate homes: Malmaison, always her favorite resi- 
dence, upon the chateau and grounds of which she had for 
years lavished money, and in which she had carried out 
every fantasy of building, decoration and gardening, that en- 
tered her head; the Elysee Palace in Paris, at present the 
residence of the presidents of the French Republic; and 
Navarre, a chateau near Evreux. 

Not only did Josephine receive money and property ; Na- 
poleon took care that her suite was in keeping with her rank. 
It was as large, indeed, as that of many of the reigning 
sovereigns of Europe, and included some of the cleverest 
and wittiest men and women of France. To the Emperor's 
honor, the persons chosen were all of them in sympathy with 
the Empress and loved by her. More than one of those 
in Josephine's household, indeed, would have been welcomed 
in the suite of Marie Louise; but being oflfered their choice, 



remained with Josephine. Mme. de Remusat was a notable 
example. She stayed with Jc^sephine solely l^ecause of her 
affection and sense of loyalty and in spite of the fact that 
her husband was the First Chamberlain of Napoleon. 

If Josephine had any idea that her divorce was going 
to separate her from Paris and the society of her friends, 
she immediately found out her mistake. The day after her 
arrival at Malmaison, in spite of a heavy shower, the road 
from Paris was one long line of carriages of persons hasten- 
ing to the chateau to pay her their respects. Those persons 
who did stay away because uncertain whether the Em- 
peror was sincere in his declaration that Josephine was to 
keep her rank as Empress had to submit to severe reproofs. 
" Have you been to see the Empress Josephine? " he began 
to ask, after a day or two, and if the courtier said no, the 
Emperor frowned and said. ** You must go, sir!" And 
as a result everybody did go, and continued to go. Indeed, 
later in the winter, when Josephine came to the Elysee for 
a short time, her house was a veritable court. 

But Josephine had received a blow which wealth, rank, 
and friends could not cure. The man w^ho once had wearied 
her by his passion and who had had to beg and threaten to 
persuade her to pass a week with him in Italy, had in turn 
become the object of as passionate affection as she was 
capable of feeling. She had for years now regarded his 
slightest wish. In devoting herself to Napoleon in order to 
save her position she had learned to love him. Her pain 
now was the greater because she could not believe that 
Napoleon meant it when he said that he still should love and 
protect her and that he should honor her for her sacrifice 
as never before. She seemed to feel that, after she had said 
good-by to him at the Tuileries, she would never see him 
again. She gave way utterly to her grief, weeping night 
and day. Napoleon kept his word, however. Two days 


after her arrival at Malmaison he came to see her and fre- 
quently in the days that followed, up to the time of his mar- 
riage with Marie Louise, at the end of March, he made her 
little visits. They were always formal, in the presence of 
attendants, but they did much to persuade the Empress that 
Napoleon intended to keep his promises to her. After every 
visit however, cam^ paroxysms of weeping. Napoleon 
kept himself informed of Josephine's state, and wrote her 
frequent notes, chiding her for this weakness, assuring her 
of his love, and begging her to have courage. 

** I found you weaker than you should have been," he 
wrote one day. ** You have shown some courage; you must 
find a way of keeping it up. You must not give up to melan- 
choly, you must try to be contented, and above all, take care 
of your health, which is so precious to me. If you love me, 
you ought to try to be strong and happy. You must not 
doubt my constant and tender friendship. You misunder- 
stand entirely my feelings if you suppose that I can be happy 
when you are not happy, and above all, when you are not 

" Savary told me that you were weeping yesterday," he 
wrote another day. " I hope that you have been able to 
go out to-day. I am sending you the results of my hunt 
yesterday. I will come to see you just as soon as you will 
promise me that you have regained your self-control and 
that your courage has the upper hand. Good-by, dear; I 
am sad to-day, too, for I have need of knowing that you 
are satisfied and courageous." 

After returning to the Tuileries, he wrote her: — ** Eu- 
gene told me that you were sad yesterday. That is not 
well, dear; it is contrary to what you promised me. It has 
been a sorrow to me to see the Tuileries again; the great 
palace seems empty, and I am lost here." 

The visits, the gifts, the letters of the Emperor really 


made the Empress worse rather than better; and finally 
Mme. de Remusat took the matter in hand. 

** The Empress passed a most unhappy morning," she 
wrote to her husband ; " she received a few visits which only 
increased her grief, and then every time anything comes 
from the Emperor she goes off into a terrible paroxysm. 
Some way must be found to persuade the Emperor to mod- 
erate his expressions of regret and affection, for whenever 
he gives a sign of his own sadness she falls into despair, and 
really her head seems turned. I take care of her as well 
as I can, but she causes me the greatest sorrow. She is 
sweet, suffering, affectionate; in fact, ever)rthing that is 
calculated to tear one's heart. In showing his affection, 
the Emperor only makes her worse. However she suffers, 
there is never a complaint escapes her; she is really as 
gentle as an angel. . . . Try, if you can, to have the 
Emperor write to her S(^ as to encourage her, and let him 
never send anything in the evening, because that gives her 
a terrible night. She cannot endure his expressions of re- 
gret. Doubtless, she could endure coldness still less, but 
there must be a medium way. She was in such a state 
yesterday after the last letter of the Emperor that I was on 
the point of writing him myself at the Trianon." 

As time went on and Josephine found that she really had 
no reason to suspect the Emperor of withdrawing the friend- 
ship he had promised, she began to imagine that he meant 
to keep her always at Malmaison, never to allow her to go 
again to Paris. This alarm probably was due to gossip 
that reached her. She no doubt would have preferred re- 
maining at Malmaison if this fear had not arisen. She was 
so overcome by suspicion that she tested his sincerity by ask- 
ing permission to go to Paris. She did this in spite of the 
fact that the talk of the forthcoming marriage — not yet 
settled, but in full negotiation — was in everybody's mouth. 


The Emperor's reply to her request was kind. " I shall be 
glad to know that you are at the Elysee, and happy to see 
Tou oftener, for you know how much I love you.*' In the 
course of this correspondence about her coming he could 
not help scolding her a little, however. ** I have just tcAd 
Eugene that you would rather listen to the gossip of the 
town than to what I tell you." 

And yet, even in this period of distress, Josephine was 
not idle; nor was she so selfish in her grief that she forgot 
her friends. Napoleon's letters to her record more than one 
promise of a favor she had asked for somebody. She even 
interested herself actively in securing a princess for the Em- 
peror. Summoning the Countess de Mettemich of Austria, 
just arrived in Paris, she told her frankly that she should 
consider the sacrifice she had made a pure waste if the Em- 
peror did not marry the Archduchess of Atistria. At that 
time Napoleon had not decided on his future Empress ; but 
the negotiations thus opened by Josephine enabled Metter- 
nich to prepare the way in Austria so that, when the time 
came, there were none of the delays which had irritated Na- 
poleon in applying for the hand of the Russian princess as 
he did first. The negotiations for the hand of Marie Louise 
terminated favorably, and the wedding was set for March. 

As the day drew near, a sense of the impropriety of Jo- 
sephine remaining at Malmaison during the ceremonies, 
grew on Napoleon, and he asked her to spend the month of 
April at Navarre. She arrived there the very day that Marie 
Louise entered Paris. Navarre was not an attractive place 
to take possession of with a large household like Josephine's 
at that season of the year, and the company, used to the 
luxury of Malmaison, found themselves obliged to camp 
out in great discomfort in an old, damp, half-furnished 
chateau, where neither doors nor windows would shut se- 
curely and where every chimney smoked. Repairs were 


quickly made, however, and furniture in quantities was sent 
from Paris. In the interval, the whole suite seems to have 
endured the experience good-naturedly, and Josephine made 
a really brave effort to adapt herself to her new situation 
and to forget her grief. She set herself to finding out the 
resources of her new estate, driving daily through the parks ; 
she superintended the gardens, planned repairs and im- 
provements in the chateau, looked up the poor and sick, in- 
vited in the people of Evreux whom she wanted to know, 
and every night played her favorite game of tric-trac with 
the bishop of the diocese. It was a good beginning for a 
useful and eventually a happy life for her, and all would 
have gone very well if she could have dismissed the idea that 
after all Napoleon did not mean to keep his promises to her 
— that it was only a question of time when he would lose his 
interest, withdraw his support, drive her from France. 

Two weeks passed after the marriage, and no word came 
to her from the Emperor. In the meantime, she was receiv- 
ing letters from Eugene and Hortense, who were required to 
be present at the ceremonies, and every member of her suite 
had daily bulletins of the gaieties at the capital and of its 
gossip. Hints reached her that it was probable the Em- 
peror would not consider it proper for her to return soon to 
Malmaison, if he did at all. Her worry became a veritable 
panic, and before she had been three weeks at Navarre, 
she asked permission to return to Malmaison. It was 
granted at once; there^ipon she sent the Emperor a stilted 
letter of thanks. Her letter and the reply it brought from 
the Emperor are excellent examples of the masculine and 
feminine ways of looking at the same situation. Josephine's 
letter read : — 

Sire: — I have just received from my son the assurance that your 
Majesty consents to my return to Malmaison and that you have been 
good enough to advance to me the money that I have asked to make 


the Chateau of Navarre habitable. This double favor, Sire, dissipates 
largely the unrest and even the fears that the long silence of your 
Majesty had awakened. I was afraid of being entirely banished from 
your mind; I see that I have not been. I am less unhappy to-day in 
consequence; I am even as happy as it will ever be possible for me 
to be. 

At the end of the month I shall go to Malmaison since your Majesty 
sees no objection to it. but I should say to you, Sire, that I should not 
so soon take advantage of the liberty which your Majesty has given 
me if the house at Navarre did not need so many repairs, both on ac- 
count of my health and that of my suite. My plan is to stay at Mal- 
maison a very short time. I shall soon go to the Springs. But while 
I am at Malmaison your Majesty may be sure I shall live as if I were 
a thousand leagues from Paris. I have made a great sacrifice. Sire and 
each day I feel it more. However, this sacrifice shall be complete; 
your Majesty shall not be disturbed in your happiness by any expression 
of regrets on my part. I shall pray ceaselessly for your Majesty's 
happiness, but your Majesty may be sure that I shall always respect 
his new situation ; I shall respect it in silence, having confidence in the 
feeling that he once had for me. I shall not try to awaken any new proof 
of it; I shall trust in your justice and in your heart. I ask but one 
favor; it is that your Majesty shall deign to give me now and then 
some proof that I have a small place in your thoughts and a large place 
in your esteem and your friendship. This will soften my grief without, 
it seems to me, compromising that which is much more important than 

all to me, the happiness of your Majesty. 


Napoleon replied: — 

My Dear: — I received your letter of the 19th of April The style is 

very bad. I am always the same; men like me never change. I do not 

know what Eugene could have said to you. I did not write you because 

you had not written me; my only desire is to be agreeable to you. I 

am glad that you are going to Malmaison and that you are contented. 

I shall go there to find out how you are and to give you news of myself. 

Now compare this letter with yours, and after that I will let you judge 

which is the more friendly, yours or mine. Good-bye, my dear. Take 

care of yourself, and be just to yourself and to me. 


Having permission to return to Malmaison, Josephine 
was satisfied to remain at Navarre. In fact, she was be- 
ginning to enjoy the place and particularly the plans for its 


improvements. It was not until May that she returned to 
Malmaison, where she remained a month. Later she spent 
three months at Aix-En-Savoy and tlien made a trip in 

On the whole, the summer and fall of 1810 were not un- 
pleasant. She had dismissed, for the time, her doubt of the 
Emperor, and suffered only from the separation from him. 
That sepai'ation Napoleon did as much as the situation al- 
lowed to soften. In May, after her return to Malmaison, he 
went to see her, and the visit seems to have been as free 
from restraint and grief as could be expected. Josephine 
was greatly pleased by the Emperor's attention. ** Yester- 
day was a day of joy for me/' she wrote to Hortense. 
**The Emperor came to see me. His presence made me happy, 
though it awakened my sorrow\ As long as he stayed with 
me I had the courage to keep back my tears, but when he 
was gone, I was nc^t able to restrain them, and I found 
myself very wretched. He was as good as ever to me, and 
I hope he read in my heart all the devotion and tenderness 
I feel for him.'' 

Not only did Napoleon go to visit her, he conceived a no- 
tion incomprehensible to a feminine mind of some day taking 
Marie Louise, and broached the subject one day as the two 
were driving near Malmaison in Josephine's absence, by 
asking the Empress if she would not like to go over the 
chateau. Marie Louise immediately began to cry, and Na- 
poleon, overwhelmed by what he had done, though probably 
not understanding at all, never ventured to go further. He 
probably saw no reason why the two women could not in 
private be friends. 

Everywhere that Josephine went in these first journeys 
after her divorce she was received with such expressions of 
devotion and interest that she must have been convinced 
that the people had adopted the Emperor's view of the di- 


vorce and looked upon her as one who had sacrificed herself 
for the country. Curiously enough, they brought petitions 
to her praying her to remit them to the Emperor ; her influ- 
ence over him and her relation to him were thus publicly 
acknowledged. In all the interviews Josephine gave to per- 
sons who sought her as she traveled she was exceedingly 
discreet; especially admirable was the way in which she 
talked of the Emperor. It was as of a brother whom she 
loved dearly and whose interests she had deeply at heart. 
Although, as a rule, she received cordially all who sought 
her, she did refuse, if she believed the person hostile to Napo- 
leon. In September, while Josephine was in Switzerland, 
Mme. de Stael, then in exile, tried to secure an interview. 
Josephine declined. *' I know her too well," she said, " to 
wish an interview. In the first book she- published, she 
would report our conversation, and the Lord only knows 
how many things she would make me say of which I never 

One real and serious cause of unhappiness for Josephine 
was removed in part this summer. It was her daughter 
Hortense's trouble. The poor Queen of Holland had for a 
long time been hopelessly embroiled with the King, Louis 
Bonaparte, and her daily letters to her mother during the 
winter and spring were hysterical cries of bitterness and 
despair. Josephine shows nowhere in better light than in 
her replies. During all this period of her own sorrow she 
wrote constantly to Hortense letters full of cheer, of wise 
counsel, and of the tenderest affection. The doubt of the Em- 
peror which seized her now and then she never allowed Hor- 
tense to entertain. She never advised anything but courage 
and forbearance in her relations to King Louis. She held 
before her her duty to her little sons, to the people of Hol- 
land, who had always loved her, and to her mother. In July, 
Louis put an end to the sad situation by abdicating his 

IS, i?8j-i8]7. 

King of Hollmnd, and 


throne, which by the Constitution went to the Queen. Na- 
poleon promptly annexed Holland to France. ** This eman- 
cipates the queen," the Emperor wrote to Josephine, ** and 
your unhappy daughter can come to Paris, where, with her 
sons, she will be perfectly happy." It was not going to 
Paris, however, that pleased Hortense; it was release from 
Louis, the care of her sons, and rejoining her mother. In- 
deed, Louis Bonaparte's cowardly conduct in Holland 
brought great relief to both Hortense and Josephine, es- 
pecially was the latter happy at being able to have the chil- 
dren, Napoleon-Louis and Louis Napoleon, or little Oiii-oiii, 
as she called him, (afterwards Napoleon III.) with her. 
She really was an ideal grandmother, everybody conceded, 
the children first of all. Their opinion was happily ex- 
pressed once by Louis, who, when a lady of the court was 
leaving to see her husband, said soberly, ** She must love M. 

A very much if she will leave grandmama to go and 

see him." 

When Josephine left Malmaison in June, she had intended 
traveling in Italy, after Switzerland, and spending the win- 
ter at Milan with her son. Her old terror of being forgot- 
ten by the Emperor and driven from France seized her in 
September, however, and for weeks she tormented herself 
w^ith the notion that it was Napoleon's plan not to allow her 
to return to France. She had no reason for the supposition 
beyond the gossip which came to her and the fears of her 
own sore heart; but this was enough to persuade her so 
thoroughly that she was to be exiled that her health began to 
fail. She succeeded, too, in communicating her fears to the 
ladies of her suite, and the little company made themselves 
wretched in the classical feminine way over a possibility for 
which there was no foundation whatever. 

Finally, Josephine wrote a humble letter to Napoleon, ask- 
ing permission to spend the winter at Navarre. He replied 


at once, that of course she might go there if she would. The 
household were thrown in hysterical transports of joy by this 
permission, and they hastened northward for a long winter 
in a provincial chateau as if Italy was a prison and the honors 
they would have received there mockery and insult. 

In spite of the fact that Navarre was not a suitable winter 
residence even when in the best condition, and that the 
changes and repairs planned were still incomplete, Josephine 
and her household passed a really happy winter and spring 
there. The life was a simple and wholesome one, free from 
the exacting ceremonies and the tiresome restraints of the 
court, and the health of them all, and notably of Josephine, 
improved. Instead of late hours and heated rooms and 
great crowds, there were the healthy habits of the country, 
constant outdoor sports, the plain people of Evreux. Jo- 
sephine found the headaches, which for so long a time had 
tormented her, almost totally disappearing. As her health 
improved she wept less, and her eyes, which she had seri- 
ously injured since the divorce, by her constant tears, grew 
better. The unfailing sweetness of her disposition in her 
trial had, up to this time, been combined with such weak- 
ness and suspicions that its beauty had been obscured. 
When, one after another, her alarms proved to be un- 
founded; when each time she found she received what she 
asked; when Napoleon continued to write her as a dear 
friend, to visit her from time to time, to do for her children ; 
when, after the birth of the King of Rome, he even arranged 
that she should see the child, and when from every side she 
continued to hear praise for her sacrifice which had 
made an heir possible, she took courage. With the re- 
turn of peace to her distracted heart, she began to fill her life 
fuller of useful and pleasant occupations. She established 
a school at Navarre, where poor children were taught ; she 
improved the town promenade, and built a little theater ; she 


fed the hungry, cared for the sick ; proved herself, indeed, a 
veritable providence to the whole country-side. 

In her own family, too, she was a good genius. Hor- 
tense was now at the court of Marie Louise, and Josephine 
was as ever her confidant and adviser. The two little princes 
she kept much with her, relieving Hortense of their care. 
Napoleon was particularly pleased with this arrangement, 
knowing how much it would do to make Josephine happy, 
and feeling, too, that her training was an excellent thing for 
the lads. Even when the children were with Hortense, much 
of her time was taken up with providing playthings for them 
and for the little folks at Milan. Mile. Ducrest says that 
the salon at Malmaison often looked like a warehouse in 
the Rue du Coq, so full was it of toys, and there was no 
surer way of pleasing Josephine than admiring the trifles 
she was constantly buying for her grandchildren. 

Eugene frequently made brief visits to Napoleon, and Jo- 
sephine's pride in him and in the place he held in the Emper- 
or's respect and affection was great. She rejoiced that Eu- 
gene was happy in his married life, loved his wife, the good 
and beautiful Augusta, daughter of the King of Bavaria; 
and when she went to Italy to visit the court at Milan, as 
she did in Eugene's absence in 181 2, at the confinement of 
the princess, she came away with her heart abrim with ma- 
ternal joy. 

Indeed, Josephine grew more and more beloved through- 
out the years 181 1 and 181 2 as she added cheerfulness and 
courage to her amiability. ** You are adored at Milan," 
wrote Eugene to her once. ** They are writing me charm- 
ing things about you. You turn the head of everybody who 
comes near you." Even Marie Louise laid aside her jeal- 
ousy of Josephine after the birth of the King of Rome, and 
by many little attentions to Hortense added to Josephine's 


happiness. She was something in France, she felt; she 
was honored, her place was secure. 

Nobody was better satisfied than Napoleon himself at 
seeing Josephine take the position he had conceived she 
should have, and her returning cheerfulness was a constant 
pleasure to him. Only one subject of contention seems to 
have occurred between them at this period that was the old 
one of Josephine's extravagance. She could not be per- 
suaded to live wnthin her income, and finally Napoleon took 
the matter rigorously in hand, writing to the Minister of 
the Public Exchequer the following letter: — 

1st November, 1811. 

You will do well to send privately for the Empress Josephine's 
comptroller and make him aware that nothing will be paid over to him. 
unless proof is furnished that there are no debts; and, as I will have no 
shilly-shallying on the subject, this must be guaranteed on the 
comptroller's own property. You will therefore notify the comptroller, 
that from the ist of Januar\' next, no payment will be made, either in 
your office, or by the Crown Treasury, until he has given an undertaking 
that no debts exist, and made his own property responsible for the 
fact. I have information that the expenditure in that household is ex- 
ceedingly careless. You will, therefore, see the comptroller, and put 
yourself in possession of all facts regarding money matters; for it is 
absurd that instead of saving two millions of money, as the Empress 
should have done, she should have more debts to be paid. It will be 
easy for you to find out the truth about this from the comptroller, and 
to make him understand that he himself might be seriously compromised. 

Take an opportunity of seeing the Empress Josephine yourself, and 
give her to understand that I trust her household will be managed with 
more economy, and that if any debts arc left outstanding, she will incur 
my sovereign displeasure. The Empress Louise has only looooo 
crowns; she pays everything every week; she does without gowns, and 
denies herself, so as never to owe money. 

My intention is, then, that from the ist of January, no payment shall 
be made for the Empress Josephine's household without a certificate 
from the comptroller, to the effect that she has no debts. Look into her 
budget for 181 1. and that prepared for 181 2. It should not amount to 
more than a million. If too many horses are kept, some of them must 
be put down. The Empress Josephine, who has children and grand- 


children, ought to economise, and so be of some use to them, instead of 
running into debt. 

I desire you will not make any more payments to Queen Hortense, 
either on account of her appanage, or for wood-felling, without asking 
my permission. Confer with her comptroller too, so that her household 
may be properly managed, and that she may not only keep out of debt, 
but regulate her expenditure in a fitting manner. 




DEATH IN 18 14 

BY the spring of 1812 Josephine had adjusted herself 
admirably to her new life. She had conquered 
her suspicions, acquired self-control, taken up useful 
duties. Her position was recognized by all France. In 
every quarter she was loved and honored. Never indeed in 
all her disordered, changeful existence was she so worthy of 
respect and affection. With every week her power of self- 
control, her capacity for happiness seemed to grow. In the 
spring she spent some time with Hortense at the chateau of 
Saint Leu, the latter's countrv home. After she returned 
to Malmaison, she wrote back a letter which show's to what a 
large degree she had regained contentment. " The few 
days I spent with you,'' she wrote Hortense, " were very 
happy, and did me great good. Everybody who comes to 
see me says that I never looked better, and I am not surprised 
at it. My health always depends on my experiences, and 
those with you were sweet and happy." 

In June, the campaign against Russia, for which Napo- 
leon had been preparing for several months, began ; but there 
is no indication that Josephine had any anxiety in seeing the 
Grand Army set out. Had she not seen the Emperor return 
from Italy, from Austerlitz, Jena, and Wagram? In July 
she went to Milan, to remain with the Princess Augusta, 
Eugene's wife, through her confinement. She seemed to 



get great pleasure from her visit. The princess she found 
charming, the children could not be better, everybody treated 
her with a consideration and an affection which touched her 
deeply. She seems to have been happy at Milan for the most 
natural, wholesome reasons — because her son's wife is a 
good woman and loves her husband ; because the new grand- 
daughter is a healthy child; because the good people of 
Milan remember her, and love her. 

Josephine took great satisfaction at this time, too, in Eu- 
gene's success. He was, in fact, justifying fully in Russia 
the good opinion the Emperor had always had of him, and 
his letters to his mother were almost exultant. " The Em- 
peror gained a great victory over the Russians to-day," he 
wrote her on September 8th. " We fought for thirteen 
hours, and I commanded the left. We all did our duty, and I 
hope the Emperor is satisfied." And again, " I write you 
only two words, my good mother, to tell you that I am well. 
My corps had a brilliant day yesterday. I had to deal with 
eight divisions of the enemy from morning until night, and 
I kept my position. The Emperor is pleased, and you can 
believe that I am." 

But the joy of victory was not long continued. Moscow 
was entered on September 15th, 1812. The exultation that 
the capture of the enemy's capital caused in France was 
short-lived. Close upon it came reports of the burning of 
the city, of the awful cost of the march inland, of the 
suffering the army was undergoing. When Josephine 
reached Paris in October, the city was full of sinister re- 
ports of defeat. A plot to seize the government, based on 
a report of Napoleon's death, had just been suppressed. Her 
letters from Eugene had talked only of victory. What could 
it mean? As she listened to the reports afloat and came 
under the spell of the city's foreboding, a deadly despair 
seized her. At the mere mention of Napoleon's name she 

Engiaved by Longhr, aflei Gerard, Milan, 1813. 


wept. Her face carried such woe that her household feared 
that worse evils had befallen them than they knew of, and 
Malmaison for weeks was wrapped in gloom. 

This was her condition when suddenly it was reported that 
Napoleon had returned unannounced from Russia. Amazed 
at the extent of the conspiracy which had arisen in his ab- 
sence and at the instability of the throne at the mere report 
of his own death, and fearing still more serious results when 
the full news of the catastrophe in Russia reached France, 
the Emperor had driven night and day across Europe to 
Paris. His presence inspired courage, but it could not close 
the ears of France to the ghastly stories of the retreat from 
Moscow, nor blind her eyes to the haggard remnants of men 
who daily flocked into the city. There was an appearance of 
gaiety, because the Emperor ordered it ; but there was little 
heart in the winter's merry-making. 

Napoleon's return did not restore Josephine's confidence. 
Her superstition, always lively, asserted itself to the full. 
The first day of the new year, 1813, was on Friday. Jo- 
sephine's presentiments were the darkest. This year would 
bring Napoleon sorrow and loss, she declared. France was 
to suffer. Nothing could restore her calm. In all this grief 
the thought was ever present with her that the divorce was 
the cause of Napoleon's misfortunes. He had destroyed his 
Star. Nor was she by any means alone in this theory. In- 
deed, it is probable that she had adopted it from others, for 
many people in France had always believed it. Even in the 
Grand Army, during the campaign against Russia, soldiers 
said, after reverses began, that it was because of the divorce. 
" He shouldn't have left the old girl," they put it ; " she 
brought him luck — and us too." 

In the spring of 181 3, the Emperor was off again at the 
head of the army which by feverish efforts he had gathered 
and equipped. Josephine saw the new campaign begin with 



foreboding; she watched its doubtful progress with growing 
dismay, and finally when in November, the French army, de- 
feated, and with its allies daily deserting, crossed the Rhine, 
her anguish was pitiful. Napoleon's name was incessantly 
on her lips, and of everybody who came within her range 
that knew anything of him she asked a hundred eager ques- 
tions. How did he look? Was he pale? Did he sleep? 
Did he believe his Star had deserted him ? 

When Eugene's father-in-law, the King of Bavaria, 
abandoned his alliance with the Emperor, Josephine urged 
upon her son loyalty and energy; and when Louis Bona- 
parte moved by his brother's misfortunes, hurried to offer 
his services, Josephine pointed out to Hortense, who, she 
thought, might reasonably expect new annoyance if Louis's 
offer was accepted^ that her husband's act was a noble one 
and that Hortense should view it so. Hortense seems as a 
matter of fact, to have felt more respect for her husband 
when she heard of his offer to return than she had for many 

During the advance of the allies towards Paris and the 
wonderful resistance Napoleon offered for many weeks, Jo- 
sephine remained at Malmaison feverishly questioning every- 
body who came. As the battles grew nearer, she interested 
herself in hospital work, and set her household to making 
lint. Now and then she received a note from the Emperor 
— a characteristic note of triumph — never of fear or com- 
plaint. These notes she always retired to read and to weep 
over, and afterwards she spent hours talking of them to her 

As the end of March approached the allies were so near 
Paris that Josephine saw bodies of strangely uniformed men 
passing and repassing near Malmaison — Cossacks, Aus- 
trians, Prussians. What could it all mean? Hortense, at 
the court of Marie Louise, sent her daily notes, telling her of 


the hopes and fears of Paris. Invariably these notes were 
courageous, showing perfect confidence in the final triumph 
of Napoleon. When at last, on March 28th, Hortense 
learned that Marie Louise and the court were leaving the 
city, her indignation was intense. She could do nothing, 
however. It was her duty to accompany Marie Louise, and 
she had only time before departing to send a note to Jose- 
phine, urging her to go to Navarre. 

" My dear Hortense," Josephine replied, " up to the mo- 
ment I received your letter I kept my courage. I cannot 
endure the thought that I am to be separated from you, and 
God knows for how long ! I am following your counsel ; I 
shall go to-morrow to Navarre. I have only sixteen men in 
my guard here, and they are all wounded. I shall keep them ; 
but as a matter of fact, I do not need them. I am so wretched 
at being separated from my children that I am indifferent 
about what happens to myself. Try to send me word how 
you are, what you will do, and where you will go. I shall 
try to follow you from afar, at least." 

Early on March 29th, the little household started through 
rain and mud. Josephine's terror was complete. She fan- 
cied she would be waylaid by Cossacks ; and once when she 
saw a band of soldiers approaching, she jumped from her 
carriage, and fled across the fields alone. It was with diffi- 
culty that her attendants convinced her that the strangers 
were French, not foreign soldiers. 

Once at Navarre, she spent much of her time alone — a 
practice quite unlike her, — reading and re-reading Napo- 
leon's letters. One of them she carried always in her bosom. 
It had been sent from Brienne, only a short time before the 
abdication, and contained the most touching expressions of 
his affection for her to be found in any of his later letters : 
" I have sought death in numberless engagements ; I no 
longer dread its approach ; I should now hail it as a boon. 


. . . Nevertheless, I still wish to see Josephine once more." 

A few days after Josephine's arrival at Navarre, Hortense 
joined her, and tliere the two learned of Napoleon's abdica- 
tion and of the return of the Bourbons. After the first 
paroxysm of grief was over, they began planning for the 
future. Hortense would go to America, with her children, 
she declared. There she could rear them so that they would 
be fit for any future. But Josephine was not for renouncing 
her position. She began to write feverishly in every direc- 
tion, apparently hoping to interest her friends in saving 
something for her in the general overthrow. The allies had 
no disposition, however, to take from Josephine either her 
rank or all her income. The Emperor Alexander, who 
was the real umpire of the game, believed it wise to look 
after the material interests of the Bonaparte family^ and in 
the treaty arranged that Josephine should have an annual 
income of 1,000,000 francs and that she should keep all of 
her property, disposing of it as she pleased. Alexander 
showed a strong desire to win Josephine's favor, in fact. 
Learning that she was at Navarre, he invited her to Mal- 
maison, giving her every assurance that she would be safe 
there. Before the end of April, she came with Hortense, 
and here Eugene joined them. Alexander soon came to 
Malmaison to see the Empress. His attentions to her set 
the vogue for the court, and repeated assurances came from 
all sides to Josephine that her position and that of her chil- 
dren was safe with the new rdgime. But Josephine could 
not believe it so. Her days and nights were full of forebod- 
ing — of laments over the fate of the Emperor. One day, 
after dining with Alexander at the Chateau of St. Leu, she 
returned to her room in complete collapse. 

" I cannot overcome the frightful sadness which has taken 
possession of me," she said. *' I make every effort to conceal 


it from my children, but only suffer the more. I am be- 
ginning to lose my courage. The Emperor of Russia has 
certainly shown great regard and affection for us, but it is 
nothing but words. What will he decide to do with my son, 
my daughter and her children ? Is he not in a position to do 
something for them ? Do you know what will happen when 
he has gone away ? Nothing he has promised will be carried 
out. I shall see my children unhappy, and I cannot endure 
the idea; it causes me the most dreadful suffering. I am 
suffering enough already on account of the fate of the Em- 
peror Napoleon, stripped of all his greatness, sent into an 
island far from France, abandoned. Must I, besides this, 
see my children wanderers? Stripped of fortune? It seems 
to me this idea is going to kill me. ... Is it Austria who 
opposes my son's advancement? Is it the Bourbons? Cer- 
tainly they are under obligations enough to me to be willing 
to pay them by helping my children. Have I not been good 
to all of their party in their misfortunes? To be sure, I 
never imagined they would come back to France ; neverthe- 
less, it pleased me to be their friend ; they were Frenchmen, 
they were suffering, they were former acquaintances, and the 
position of those princes that I had seen in their youth 
touched my heart. Did I not ask Bonaparte twenty times to 
let the Duchess of Orleans and the Duchess of Bourbon 
come back? It was through me that he succored them in 
their distress, that he allowed them a pension which they 
received in a foreign country.'* 

The attention paid her by the allies seemed to leave no 
ground for any of these anxieties. The King of Prussia 
and his sons, the grand-dukes of Russia, every great man in 
Paris, in fact, sought Josephine repeatedly. She distrusted 
it all, and one moment wept over the fate of herself and 
children; the next over Napoleon alone on his island — re- 
peatedly she declared she would join him if she did not fear 


it would cause a misunderstanding between him and Marie 
Louise, and so prevent the latter from going to Elba, as 
Josephine thought she ought to do. In her nervous state she 
searched for signs of the neglect and discourtesy which she 
believed were in store for her. She planned to sell her 
jewels. Everyone in the household became thoroughly dis- 
turbed over her condition. *' My mother is courageous and 
amiable, when she is receiving," Hortense said one day; 
'* but as soon as she is alone, she gives up to a grief which is 
my despair. I am afraid that the misfortunes which have 
fallen upon us have affected her too deeply and that her 
health will never reassert itself.'* 

Josephine was in this nervous condition when she took a 
severe cold, and on May 25th her condition was so serious 
that the best physicians of Paris were summoned. The Em- 
peror of Russia sent his private physician, and went himself 
frequently to Malmaison. Everything that could be done 
was done, but poor Josephine's power of resistance was at an 
end. Restlessly tossing hour after hour on her pillow, mur- 
muring at intervals — ** Bonaparte " — " Elba " — ** Marie 
Louise " — she lay for four days. On the morning of the 
29th. it was evident to Hortense and Eugene, evident to Jo- 
sephine herself, that she could not live long. The priest 
was summoned, and alone with him she confessed for the 
last time, while in the chapel below her children knelt and 
listened to the mass said for their mother. After the con- 
fession, the members of the household gathered about her 
bed while the sacrament was administered. A few moments 
after the last words of the solemn service were said, the 
Empress was pronounced dead. 

The news of the death of Josephine produced a profound 
impression in Paris. She had died of grief, they said, grief 
at Napoleon's downfall. Even those who had no sympathy 


for her in life were moved by the tragic circumstances of 
her end and hastened to pay a last tribute to her memory. 
For three days the body of the Empress lay on a catafalque 
in the vestibule of the chateau at Malmaison, and in that 
time over 20,000 persons looked upon it. 

At the funeral, which took place on June 2nd, in the little 
church at Reuil, near Malmaison, royal honors were ac- 
corded Josephine ; though the really touching feature of the 
procession and service was the presence of hundreds of peo- 
ple — soldiers, peasants, old men, children — who came to pay 
the only tribute possible to them to the ** good Josephine," 
the '* Star '* of the Emperor. 

The Empress still lies in the little church at Reuil, where 
she was laid eighty-six years ago, and her grave and 
the Chateau of Malmaison have remained until to-day, 
places of pilgrimage for those who knew and loved her in 
life as well as for many thousands whose hearts have been 
touched by the melancholy story of her life of adventure, 
glory, and sorrow. In June, 181 5, before departing for 
Waterloo, Napoleon visited the chateau. Hortense, who 
had not been there since her mother's death, received him. 
For an hour he walked in the park talking of Josephine; 
then he went over the chateau, looking at every room, at 
almost every article of furniture. At the door of the room 
where Josephine had died, it is told that he stopped and said 
to Hortense, " My daughter, I wish to go in alone.*' When 
he came out his eyes were wet. 

Scarcely more than two weeks later he returned to Mal- 
maison. Defeated at Waterloo, he was an outcast unless 
France rallied to him. That the country could not do. It 
was thus from the home of Josephine that Napoleon went 
into captivity. 

In 1824, Eugene and Hortense, both exiles from France 
since 181 5, bought one of the chapels in the church at Reuil 


and placed in it the beautiful monument to Josephine which 
is to be seen there to-day. In 1831, Hortense crossed France 
incognito with Louis-Napoleon, and the two then, for the 
first time, saw the monument. From Reuil they went to 
Malmaison, but only to the gates. Five years before, the 
chateau had been sold to a Swedish banker, and the porter 
refused Hortense admission because she had no pass from 
the proprietor. 

Seven years after this sad visit, Hortense was brought 
to Reuil to be laid beside her mother. But it was not until 
twelve years later, when her son, Josephine's beloved Out- 
out, Louis-Napoleon, had become emperor, that a monument 
was placed in the church to her memory. With the return of 
the Bonapartes to power, the memory of Josephine became 
a cult. It was she alone of all the women who for seventy 
years had ruled France, Napoleon III. told his people, w^ho 
had brought them happiness. Her statue was reared in 
Paris; her name was given to a grand avenue; Malmaison 
was bought, made more brilliant than ever, and thrown open 
to visitors. On every hand her life was extolled, her char- 
acter glorified. As a resuh of this attempt at canonization, 
Josephine became for the world a pure and gentle heroine, 
the victim of her own unselfish devotion to the man she 
loved. With the passing of the Napoleonic dynasty, it has 
become possible to study her life dispassionately. The re- 
searches show her to have been much less of a saint than 
Napoleon III. wished the world to believe. 

Josephine was by birth and training the victim of a 
vicious system. Her nature was essentially shallow, her 
strongest passions being for attention, gaiety, and the 
possession of beautiful apparel and jewels. Nothing in her 
early surroundings showed her that there were better things 
in life to pursue. None of the hard experiences of later life 
dimmed these passions. To gratify them she was willing to 


adapt herself to any society, and freely give her person to 
the lover who promised most. It would be unjust to judge 
her by the orderly standards of present-day Anglo-Saxon 
morality — she, an eighteenth century Creole, cast almost a 
child into the chaotic whirl of the French Revolution. What 
purity or dignity could be expected of a child of her nature 
when her chief protectors, her father, her aunt, and her hus- 
band, were all notoriously unfaithful to the most sacred 
relations of life! If Josephine, when abandoned by her hus- 
band and later thrown on her own resources in a society 
which w^as honey-combed with vice, went with her world, 
one can only pity. 

There is little doubt that if she had been faithful to Na- 
poleon from the beginning of their married life, her future 
with him would have been different. The fatal disillusion he 
suffered in 1797 made the divorce possible for him. So long 
as Josephine was true, no other woman could have existed 
for him. Such is the strange exclusiveness in love, of a 
nature, brutal, sweet, and strong like Napoleon's. It should 
never be forgotten, however, that when the poor little Creole 
realized, that to keep her position she must be faithful, she 
never after gave offens^, and that as the years went on her 
devotion to her husband became a cult. Nothing indeed 
in the history of women is more pathetic than the patience, 
the sweetness, with which Josephine performed all the ex- 
acting and uncongenial duties of her position as Empress. 

Although Josephine possessed none of those qualities 
which make a heroic soul, knew nothing of true self-denial, 
was a coward in danger, never lost sight of personal interest, 
was an abject time-server, few women have been loved more 
sincerely by those surrounding them. There was good rea- 
son for this. No word of malice ever crossed her lips, she 
took no joy in seeing an enemy suffer, she never intrigued, 
she nevci* flagged in kindly service. If she was incapable of 






I ; heroic deeds at least her days were filled with small courte- 

I I i>ies, kind words, generous acts. A candid survey of her 
* ' life destroys the heroine, but it leaves a woman who through 

a stormy life kept a kindly heart towards friend and enemy 
and wiio at last attained rectitude of conduct. 

And this is the most that can be said for her. It touches 
the woman Josei)hine only. As for the Empress Josephine, 
she IS only a name. She held her throne bv the accident of 
her marriage and never took it seriously. She never compre- 
hended the ideas it stood for in the mind of the great tyrant ^ 
who established it. The prosi)erity of the French j^eople — 
the glory of French arms, the spread of just laws, the estab- 
lishment of a stable system, all those notions for which Na- 
])oleon was struggling,meant nothing to her save as they af- 
fected the tenure of her own position. The one distinguished 
opportunity she had of serving the Napoleonic idea — the di- 
vorce — she accepted only when she realized that she could 
not escape it. That her graciousness and her kindly spirit 
smoothed Napoleon's way in the difficult task of manufac- 
i\ turing a cmirt and a nc^bility is un(|uestionable. But this was 

the service of a tactful wc^man of the world rendered to a 
husband, not of an Empress tt^ her pet^ple. The French peo- 
ple indeed meant n<^ more to her than her throne. They 
merely filled the background of the stage where she played 
her part. She was an Empress only in name, never in soul. 

' » 

Autographs of Napoleon from 1785- 


In the year 1785, Napoleon left the Military School at 
Paris, and was admitted as a Second Lieutenant in the regi- 
ment of La Fere. At this time he signed like his father: 
** Buonaparte, younger son, gentleman, at the Royal Mili- 
tary School of Paris." 

Napoleon obtained a company in 1789, and in 1792 he; 
was sent at the head (^f a battalion of Volunteer Infantry, 
which was to take part in an expedition against Sardinia. 
On returning from this expedition, he commanded the artil- 

* This collection of signatures is reproduced from '* Napoleon rccont^ par 
rimage " by Armand Dayot. 




lery at the siege of Toulon. His signature then was as fol- 

After the capture of Ollioules, the 3rd of December, 1793, 
Napoleon was made General, and in 1794 he commanded 
the artillery of the Army of Italy. At the commencement 
of the year 1795 he was ordered to join the Infantry in the 
Vendee, but he refused and remained in Paris, where he 
was attached to the Minister of War. The 5th of October 
of this year, he commanded under Barras, the Army of the 
Convention, against the Sections of Paris, and became, 
thanks to him, General of Division. 

A little later Barras gave him the Commanding Chief of 
the Army of the Interior. 

Up to this time Na])oleon had not changed the spelling of 
his name. The heading of his letters read " Buonaparte, 
general en chef de I'arutee de I'interieur," and he signed 
'' Buonaparte/' 

The next signature is at the end of a note on the Army of 
Italy dated January 19, 1796, Le General Buonaparte. 


In the Memorial from St. Helena, Napoleon says that in 
his youth he signed Buonaparte like his father, and having 
obtained the command of the Army of Italy, he changed this 
spelling, which was Italian, but some years later, being 
among the French, he signed Bonaparte. 

Napoleon was made General-in-Chief of the Army of 
Italy, the 23rd of Feb., 1796, and he signed Buonaparte up 
to the 29th of the same month. He left Paris to join the 
Army towards the middle of the following month, and in the 
first letter he addressed to the Directory, dated Nice, the 
28th of March, from his headquarters, he informed them 
that he had taken command of the Army the day before, 
and he signed himself Bonaparte. 

From this time the change was generally adopted, and the 
official letters bear the signature '' Bonaparte, General-in- 
Chief of the Army of Italy." 

From his headquarters at Carcare, Napoleon addressed 
to the Directory at Paris his reports on the battle of Monte- 
notte, which opened the Italian campaign. This letter was 
dated April 14, 1796, and signed Bonaparte. 

In his celebrated proclamation from Milan, the 20th of 
March, 1796, Napoleon thus addressed his army: " Soldiers, 
you have i)recipitated yourselves like a torrent from the top 



of the Apennines, Milan is yours!" and he signed Bona- 

As General-in-Chief of the Egyptian Expedition, Napo- 
leon signed as follows: 

From Cairo, the 30th of July, 1798, he signed himself 

When he first became Emperor, he signed himself Na- 



The above is one of the first signatures of the Emperor. 
It was given at Saint Cloud, the 25th of May, 1804. The 
first three letters NAPoleon, and exactly like this in the 
middle of his signature when he was accustomed to signing 
himself BuoNAParte. Up to 1805 he continued to sign 
his whole name. The i8th of September, 1805, he signed: 

After the battle of Austerlitz, which ended the campaign 
of 1805, the proclamation of Napoleon, dated from the 
Iruperial Camp of Austerlitz, the 3rd of December, 1805, 
was signed Napoleon. 

Beginning with the campaign of 1806, he signed only the 
first five letters of his name, thus, Napol, 



The 26th of October, 1806, at Potsdam, the Emperor 
signed himself thus, 

The 29th of October, 1806, from Beriin, as follows: 

The 27th of January, from Varsovia, 


From the Imperial Camp at Tilsit, the 22n(l of June, 1807, 
the Emperor signed only his initial, as below, and very 
rarely after that his entire name : N. 



The 7th of December, 1808, he signed from Madrid, 
thus, A^. 

At the commencement of the campaign of 1809, in writ- 
ing to Marshall Massena, he signed himself as follows : 

From the Imperial Camp of Ratisbonne, the 24th of 
April, 1809, the Emperor addressed a proclamation to the 
Army, ending thus, ** Before a month has passed, I shall be 
at Vienna," and he signed 

Less than three weeks afterwards, the French Army was 



at Vienna, and the Emperor signed his decrees from the 
Palace of Schoenbrunn, 13th of May; 

The same variety of signatures is found in the orders 
dated Moscow, the city which he had entered as a Con- 
queror, the 1 2th of Septeml)er, 181 2. 

The 2 1 St of Sept., 1812, at 3 o'clock in the morning, the 
Emperor signed himself as follows: 

During the campaign of 1813, the Emperor sent an order 
from Dresden to the Major-General, dated October ist, at 
noon. General Petit relates that he reflected some time be- 



fore sending it, for the signature had been scratched out 
twice, and written a third time. 

One of the next extraordinary signatures of the Em- 
peror's, is the following, which he gave at Erfurt, October 
i3> 1813: 

The 4th of April, 1814, Fontainebleau, thus, N. 



The gth of September, 1814, from the Isle of Elba, he 
■writes thus: Nap. 

On July 14, 1815, the Emperor wrote to the Prince 
Regent of England and signed himself 

At Longwood, St. Helena, on Dec. 11, 1816. tlie Em- 
peror wrote to Count Las Cases a letter of condolence on the 
order the Count had received to leave the island. It was 
his first signature at St. Helena. 


(1746-1785 ) 

From this 

\. Joseph (1768-1844), married in \^^ to 
Marie Julie Clary. 

From this marriage : 

(x) Z^nalde Charlotte (1801-1854), married 
in 1832 to her cousin, Charles Bona- 
parte, Prince de Canino. 

(a) Charlotte (180? i8iq), married in 1831 
Napoleon Louis, her cousin, second 
son of Louis. 

2d. NAPOLEON I. (1769-1821), married 
(i) Marie Josephine Rose Tascher de la 

Pagerie in i7<j6. 
(2) Marie Ix>uise, Archduchess of Au- 

stria, in 1810. 

Adopted the first wife's 
children : 


(i) Eujifdne (1781-1821), who married the 
Princess Augusta Amelia, daughter 
of the King of Bavaria. 

From this marriage : 

0») Maximilian Joseph, Duke of Leuch- 
tenberg, who married in 1839 a 
daughter of the Czar Nicholas. 

ib) Josephine, married in 1823 to Oscar 
Bernadotte, since King of Sweden 
under the name of Charles XIV. 

(C) Eugdnie Hortcnsc, married in 1826 
to Prince F'rederick of Hohenzol- 
lern Hechingen. 

td) Amelie Augusta, married in 1829 to 
I)om Pedro, Emperor of Brazil. 

(^) Auguste Charles, married in 1835 to 
Donna Maria, Queen of Portugal. 

(/) Thdodeline Louise, married in 1841 
to William, Count of Wflrtemberg. 

^2) Eugdnie Hortense (1783-1827), mar- 
ried to Louis Bonaparte. (See Louis. 

From second marriage : 

Francois Charles Joseph ( NAPOLEON 
II.), King of Rome, afterwards Duke 
of Reichstadt (1811-1832). 



(1750-1836 ) 

IN 1765. 
marriage : 

3d. l.ucien (1775-1840), married : 

(i> in 1794, Christine Elconore Boyer. 

(a) in z8o2, Madame Jouberthon. 

From first marriage : 

(x) Charlotte, married in 181 5 to Prince 

Mario Gabrielli. 
(i) Christine Ejcypta, married in 1818 to 

Count Avred Posse, a Swede, and 

in i8i4 to Lord Dudley Coutts 


From second marriage : 

(i) Charles Lucien Jules Laurent, 
Prince of Canino, married to elder 
daugfhter of Joseph Bonaparte. 
Charles Lucien had eight children : 
Joseph, who died young ; Lucien a 
cardinal in 1868; Napoleon, served 
in French army ; Julie, married 
to the Marquis de Boccagiovine ; 
Charlotte, who became the Count- 
ess of Primoli ; Augusta, afterwards 
the Princess (rabriclli ; Marie, mar- 
ried to Count Campello ; Bathilde, 
married to Count Cambac^rds. 

(2) Lcetitia, married to Sir Thomas 

(3) Paul, killed in 1826. 

(4) Jeanne, died in 1828. 

(5) Louis Lucien, known as Prince Lu- 
cien, and distinguished as a writer. 

(6) Pierre Napoleon, known as Pnnco 
Pierre, married to a sempstress, and 
refused to give her up. The oldest 
son of Prince Pierre is the I*rince 
Roland Bonaparte. He would now 
be the chief of the House of Bona- 
parte, if Lucien had not been cut 
off from the succession. 

(7) Antoine. 

(8) Marie, married to the Viscount Va- 

(9) Constance, who took the veil. 

4th. Marie Anne Eliza (x777-i8ao), mar- 
ried to Felix Bacciochi in 1797. 

From (kis marriage : 

(i) Charles Jerome Bacchiochi xSio* 

(j) Napoleone Eliza, married to Count 






From ikis 

sth. Louis (1778-1846) married in 1802 to 
Eugenie Hortense de Beauhaniais, 
daughter of Josephine. 

From this marriagt : 

(x) Napoleon Charleg, heir-presumptive 
to the throne of Holland, died in 

(a) Charles Napoleon Louis, married his 
cousin Charlotte, daughter of Jos- 
eph ; died in 1831. 

(3) Charles Louis Napoleon, Emperor 
of the French in 18^2, under the title 
of NAPOLEON III, married in 1853 
to Eugenie de Monti jo de Guzman 
Countess of Teba. 

From this marriage : 

Napoleon Eugdne Louis Jean Joseph 
Prince Imperial, bom in 1856 ; killed 
in Zululand in 1879 

6th. Marie Pauline (1780-1825), married 
(x) in 1801 to General Leclerc. 
(a) in X803 to Prince CamiUe Borgheae. 
No children. 




IN 1765. 
marriage : 


7th. Caroline Marie Annonciade (1782- 
1839), married Joachim Murat in x8oo. 

From this marriage : 

(x) Napoleon Achille Charles Louis 
Murat (i8oi-x847)f went to Florida 
where he married a fp'*Q<l-Qioco of 
George Washington. 

(2) LflBtitia Josftphe, married to the 
Marquis of Pepoli. 

(3) Lucien Charles Joseph Francois 
Napoleon Murat, married an Ameri- 
can, a Miss Fraser, in 1827. From 
this marriage there were five chil- 

(4) Louise Julie Caroline, married Count 

VCd, Jerome (1784-1860), married : 

(x) in 1803 to Miss Eliza Patterson of 

Baltimore; and 
(2) in 1807 to the Princess Catharine of 


From first marriage: 

Jerome Napoleon Bonaparte-Paterson 
(1805-1870) married in xSag to Miss 
Suzanne Gay. Two children were 
bom from this marriage : 

(x) Jerome Napoleon Bonaparte (x83a- 

(2) Charles Bonaparte, at present a 
resident of Baltimore. 

From second marriage : 



Jerome Napoleon Charles, who died 
in X847. 

Mathilde LaetiU Wilhelmine, mar- 
ried in X840 to a Russian, Prince 
Demidoflf, but separated from him : 
known as the Princess Mathilde. 
(3) Napoleon Joseph Charles Paul, call- 
ed Prince Napoleon, also known as 
Plon Plon, married in 1859 the Prin- 
cess Clotilde, daughter of King 
Victor Emmanuel of Italy. On the 
death of the Prince Imperial, in 1879, 
became chief of the Bonapartist 
party. Died in 1891. Prince Naix>- 
leon had three children : 
(a) Napoleon Victor Jerome Freder- 
ick, born in 1862, called Prince Vic- 
tor and the present Head of the 
House of Bonaparte. 
Napoleon Louis Joseph Jerome. 
Marie Lsetitia Eugenie Catharine 




Age. Date. Event. 

1769. Aug. 15. — Napoleon Bonaparte born at Ajaccio, in Corsica. 
Fourth child of Charles Bonaparte and of Laetitia. nee 

9. 1778. Dec. — Napoleon embarks for France with his father, 
his brother Joseph, and his Uncle Fesch. 


9. 1779. Jan. I. — Napoleon enters the CoUege of .Autun. 

9. 1779. April 23. — Napoleon enters the Royal Military School of 

5. 1784. Oct. 23. — Napoleon enters the Royal Military School of 

6. 1785. Sept. I. — Napoleon appointed Second Lieutenant in the 
Artillery Regiment de la Fere. 

6. 1785. Oct. 29. — Napoleon leaves the Military School of Paris. 

6. 1785. Nov. 5 to Aug. II, 1786. — Napoleon at Valence with his 

7. 1786. Aug. 15 to Sept. 20. — Napoleon at Lyons with regiment. 
7. 1786. Oct. 17 to Feb. I, 1787. — Napoleon at Douai with regiment. 

7. 1787. Feb. I to Oct. 14. — Napoleon on leave to Corsica. 

8. 1787. Oct. 15 to Dec. 24. — Napoleon quits Corsica, arrives in 
Paris, obtains fresh leave. 

8. 1787. Dec. 25 to May. 1788. — Napoleon proceeds to Corsica and 
returns early in May. 

18-19. 1788. May to April 4. 1789. — Napoleon at Auxonne with regi- 



Age. Date. Event. 

19. 1789. April 5 to April 30. — Napoleon at Seurre in command of a 

19-20. 1789. May 1 to Sept. 15. — Napoleon at Auxonne with regiment 

20-21. 1789. Sept. 16 to June i, 1791. — Napoleon in Corsica. 

21-22. 1 79 1. June 2 to Aug. 29. — Napoleon joins the Fourth Regiment 

of Artillery at Valence as First Lieutenant. • 

22. 1791. Aug. "30. — Napoleon starts for Corsica on leave for three 
months; quits Corsica May 2, 1792, for France, where 
he has been dismissed for absence without leave. 

23. 1792. Aug. 30. — Napoleon reinstated. 

23. 1792. Sept. 14 to June 11. 1793. — Napoleon in Corsica engaged in 

revolutionary attempts ; having declared against Paoli, 
he. and his family are obliged to quit Corsica. 

23- 1793- June 13 to July 14. — Napoleon with his company at Nice. 

24. 1793. Oct. 9 to Dec. 19. — Napoleon placed in command of part 
of artillery of army of Carteaux before Toulon, 19th 
Oct. ; Toulon taken 19th Dec. 

24. 1793- Dec. 22. — Napoleon nominated provisionally General of Bri- 
gade; approved later; receives commission. i6th Feb., 

24. 1793- Dec. 26 to April i. 1794. — Napoleon appointed inspector of 
the coast from the Rhone to the Var, on inspection 

24. 1794. April I to Aug. 5. — Napoleon with army of Italy; at Genoa 
I5th-2ist July. 

24-25. 1794. Aug. 6 to Aug. 20. 1794. — Napoleon in arrest after fall of 


25. 1794. Sept. 14 to March 29. 1795. — Napoleon commanding ar- 
tillery of an intended maritime expedition to Corsica 

25. 1795. March 27 to May 10. — Napoleon ordered from the south to 
join the army in La Vendee to command its artillery; 
arrives in Paris, loth May. 

25-26. 1795. June 13. — Napoleon ordered to join Hoche*s army at Brest, 
f to command a brigade of infantry; remains in Paris; 



Age. Date. Event. 

2ist Aug.. attached to Comite de Salut Public as one 
of four advisers; 15th Sept.. struck off list of employed 
generals for disobedience of orders in not proceeding to 
the west. 

26. 1795. Oct. 5 (13th Vendemiaire, Jour des Sections). — Napoleon 
defends the Convention from the revolt of the Sections. 

26. 1795. Oct. 16. — Napoleon appointed provisionally General of Di- 

26. 1795. Oct. 26. — Napoleon appointed General of Division and Com- 
mander of the Army of the Interior (i. c, of Paris). 

26. 1796. March 2. — Napoleon appointed Commander-in-Chief of the 
Army of Italy; 9th March, marries Madame de Beau- 
hamais, n^e Tascher de la Pagerie. 

26. 1796. March 11, leaves Paris for Italy. 

26. 1796. First Italian campaign of Napoleon against Austrians under 
Beaulieu. and Sardinians under Colli. Battle of 
Montenotte. 12th April; Millesimo. 14th April; Dego, 
14th and 15th April ; Mondovi, 22d April ; Armistice 
of Cherasco with Sardinians, 28th April ; Battle of 
Lodi, loth May; Austrians beaten out of Lombardy, 
and Mantua besieged. 

26. 1796. July and August. — First attempt of Austrians to relieve 

Mantua; battle of Lonato, 31st July; Lonato and Cas- 
tiglione, 3d Aug.; and. again. Castiglione. 5th and 6th 
Aug. ; Wurmser beaten off, and Mantua again invested. 

27. 1796. Sept. — Second attempt of Austrians to relieve Mantua ; bat- 

tle of Galliano, 4th Sept. ; Primolano. 7th Sept. ; Bas- 
sano, 8th Sept. ; St. Georges, 15th Sept. ; Wurmser 
driven into Mantua and invested there. 

27. 1796. Nov.— Third attempt of Austrians to relieve Mantua; bat- 
tles of Caldiero. nth Nov., and Areola. 15th. i6th, and 
17th Nov. ; Alvinzi driven off. 

27. 1797. Jan. — Fourth attempt to relieve Mantua; battles of Rivoli, 
14th Jan., and Favorita. i6th Jan. ; Alvinzi again driven 

27. 1797. Feb. 2. — Wurmser surrenders Mantua with eighteen thou- 
sand men. 


Age. Date. Event. 

27. 1797. March 10. — Napoleon commences his advance on the Arch- 

duke Charles; beats him at the Tagliamento, i6th 
March; i8th April, provisional treaty of Leoben with 

28. 1797. Oct. 17. — Treaty of Campo Fcrmio between France and 

Austria to replace that of Leoben ; Venice partitioned, 
and itself now falls to Austria. 

28. 1798. Egyptian expedition. Napoleon sails from Toulon. 19th 
May; takes Malta, loth June; lands near Alexandria, 
1st July; Alexandria taken, 2d July; battle of the 
Pyramids, 21st July; Cairo entered, 23d July. 

28. 1798. Aug. I and 2.--Battle of the Nile. 

29. 1799. March 3. — Napoleon starts for Syria; 7th March, takes 

Jaffa; i8th March, invests St. Jean d'Acre; i6th April, 
battle of Mount Tabor; 22d May. siege of Acre raised; 
Napoleon reaches Cairo. 14th June. 

29. 1799. July 25. — Battle of Aboukir ; Turks defeated. 

30. 1799. Aug. 22. — Napoleon sails from Egypt; lands at Frejus, 

6th Oct. 

30. 1799. Nov. 9 and 10 (i8th and 19th Brumaire). — Napoleon seizes 

30. 1799. Dec. 25. — Napoleon. First Consul ; Cambaceres, Second 
Consul ; Lebrun, Third Consul. 

30. 1800. May and June. — Marengo campaign. 14th June, battle of 

Marengo; armistice signed by Napoleon with Melas. 
iSth June. 

31. 1800. Dec. 24 (3d Nivose). — Attempt to assassinate Napoleon by 

infernal machine. 

31. 1801. Feb. 9. — Treaty of Luneville between France and Germany. 

31. 1801. July 15. — Concordat with Rome. 

32. 1801. Oct. I. — Preliminaries of peace between France and Eng- 

land signed at London. 

32. 1802. Jan. 26. — Napoleon Vice-President of Italian Republic. 
32. 1802. March 27. — Treaty of Amiens. 


Age. Date. Event. 

32. 1802. May 19. — Legion of Honor instituted; carried out 14th 
July, 1814. 

32. 1802. Aug. 4. — Napoleon First Consul for life. 

33. 1803. May. — War between France and England. 

S3. 1803. March 5. — Civil Code (later Code Napoleon) decreed. 

34. 1804. March 21. — Due d'Enghien shot at Vincennes. 

34-35. 1804. May 18. — Napoleon, Emperor of the French people; 

crowned, 2d Dec. 

34. 1805. May 26. — Napoleon crowned king of Italy at Milan, with 
iron crown. 

36. 1805. Ulm campaign; 25th Sept., Napoleon crosses the Rhine; 

14th Oct., battle of Elchingen; 20th Oct.. Mack sur- 
renders Ulm. 

36. 1805. Oct. 21.— Battle of Trafalgar. 

36. 1805. Dec. 2. — Russians and Austrians defeated at Austerlitz. 

36. 1805. Dec. 26. — Treaty of Presburg. 

36. 1806. July I. — Confederation of the Rhine formed; Napoleon 


37. 1806. Jena campaign with Prussia. Battles of Jena and of 

Auerstadt. 14th Oct. ; Berlin occupied, 27th Oct. 

37. 1806. Nov. 21. — Berlin decrees issued. 

37. 1807. Feb. 8. — Battle of Eylau with Russians, indecisive; 14th 
June, battle of Friedland, decisive. 

37. 1807. July 8 and 9. — Treaty of Tilsit signed. 

38. 1807. Oct. 27. — Secret treaty of Fontainebleau between France 

and Spain for the partition of Portugal. 

38. 1808. March. — French gradually occupy Spain ; Joseph Bonaparte 

transferred from Naples to Spain; replaced at Naples 
by Murat. 

39. 1808. Sept. 27 to Oct. 14. — Conferences at Erfurt between Na- 

poleon, Alexander and German sovereigns. 


Age. Date. Event. 

39. 1808. Nov. and Dec. — Napoleon beats the Spanish armies; enters 
Madrid; marches against Moore, but suddenly re- 
turns to France in January, 1809, to prepare for Aus- 
trian campaign. 

39. 1809. Campaign of Wagram. Austrians advance. lOth April; 

Napoleon occupies Vienna. 13th May; beaten back at 
Essling. 22d May ; finally crosses Danube. 4th July, and 
defeats Austrians at Wagram. 6th July. 

40. 1809. Oct. 14. — Treaty of Schonbrunn or of Vienna. 
40. 1809. Dec. — Josephine divorced. 

40. 1810. April I and 2. — Marriage of Napoleon, aged 40. with Marie 

Louise, aged 18 years 3 months. 

41. 1810. Dec. — Hanseatic towns and all northern coast of Ger- 

many annexed to French Empire. 

41. 181 1. March 20. — The King of Rome, son of Napoleon, born. 

43-43- 1812. — War with Russia; June 24, Napoleon crosses the Niemen; 

7th Sept., battle of Moskwa or Borodino; Napoleon 
enters Moscow, 15th Sept.; commences his retreat. 19th 

43. 1812. Oct. 22-23. — Conspiracy of General Malet at Paris. 

43. 1812. Nov. 26-28. — Passage of the Beresina; sth Dec, Napoleon 

leaves his army; arrives at Paris, i8th Dec. 

43-44. 181 3. Leipsic campaign. 2d May, Napoleon defeats Russians and 

Prus.sians at Liitzen; and again, on 20th-2ist May. at 
Bautzen ; 26th June, interview of Napoleon and Mettcr- 
nich at Dresden ; loth Aug., midnight, Austria joins 
the allies; 26th-27th Aug.. Napoleon defeats allies at 
Dresden, but Vandamme is routed at Kulm on 30th 
Aug., and on i6th-i9th Oct., Napoleon is beaten at 

44. 1814. Allies advance into France; 29th Jan.. battle of Brienne; 

1st Feb., battle of La Rothiere. 

44. 1814. Feb. 5 to March 18. — Conferences of Chatillon (sur Seine). 

44. 1814. Feb. II. — Battle of Montmirail; 14th Feb., of Vauchamps; 
i8th Feb.. of Montereau. 


Age. Date. Event. 

44. 1814. March 7.--Battle of Craon; gth-ioth March, Laon; 20th 
March, Arcis sur TAubc. 

44. 1814. March 21. — Napoleon commences his march to throw him- 
self on the communications of the allies; 25th March, 
allies commence their march on Paris; battle of La 
Fere Champenoise, Marmont and Mortier beaten; 28th 
March, Napoleon turns back at St. Dizier to follow 
allies; 29th March, empress and court leave Paris. 

44. 1814. March 30. — Paris capitulates; allied sovereigns enter on 
1st April. 

44. 1814. April 2. — Senate declares the deposition of Napoleon. 

who abdicates, conditionally, on 4th April, in favor of 
his son, and unconditionally on 6th April; Marmont's 
corps marches into the enemy's lines on 5th April ; on 
nth April. Napoleon signs the treaty giving him Elba 
for life ; 20th April, Napoleon takes leave of the Guard 
at Fontainebleau ; 3d May. Louis XVIIL enters Paris; 
4th May, Napoleon lands in Elba. 

45. 1814. Oct. 3. — Congress of Vienna meets for settlement of 

Europe; actually opens 3d Nov. 

45- 1815. Feb. 26. — Napoleon quits Elba; lands near Cannes, ist 
March; 19th March. Louis XVIIL leaves Paris; 20th 
March. Napoleon enters Paris. 

45- 1815. June 16. — Battle of Ligny and Quatre Bras; i8th June, bat- 
tle of Waterloo. 

45-46. 1815. June 29.^Napoleon leaves Malmaison for Rochefort; sur- 
renders to English. 15th July; sails for St. Helena, 8th 
Aug. ; arrives at St. Helena, 15th Oct. 

51 yrs. } jg^j ^^y g — Napoleon dies, 5.45 p. m. ; buried, 8th May. 

1821. May 5. — Napoleon dies. 5.45 P. m. ; buried. 8th May. 

1840. Oct. 15. — Body of Napoleon disentombed; embarked in the 
** Belle Poule,** commanded by the Prince de Joinville, 
son of Louis Philippe, on 16th Oct. ; placed in the Inva- 
lides, 15th Dec. 1840. 


Abdication of Napoleon, 263. 

Abouhir Bay, 91, 93. 

Adige, 68, 71, 72. 

Alexander 1.. Emperor of Russia. 

168, 17s, 301, 203. 235. 
Alvinzi, 71, 72. 
Amiens, treaty of, 103. 
Amiens, treaty of, broken, 103, 143, 
Anna Paulowna, 225. 
Areola, bridge of, 72. 78. 
Armstrong, U. S. Minister to 

France, 195, 196. 
Army of Egypt, 91, 
Army of Italy, 61, 62, 81. 
Art a<;qui?;hionj from Italy. 82. Sj. 

Augereau, 62, 63, 259. 
Auslcrlitz, battle of. 167. 168. 169, 
Austria, Emperor of, 17. 
n army. 67. 68, 69. 

I army, driven from Italy. 


Austrian s, 64-66. 
Austrians at Rivoli. 
Autun, 19, 21, 31. 

Bacciochi, Mme.. 89. 

Baden, Grand Duchess of, 407. 

Baden, Prince Augusie of, 3S9, 

Bank of France. 107. 

Barras. Paul, j?, 48, 53. S4-S5. 340, 

34 1 342, 344. 345- 
Bassano, 69. 71. 

Battle of Austerlitz, 167, 168, 169. 

Battle of Bautzen, 2,'i3. 

Battle of Borodino, 241. 

Battle of Lylau. 173. 

Battle of Friedland, 173, 175. 

Battle of Hohcniindtn, 03. 

Battle of Jena, J71 1^2. 

Battle of La Favorita. 73. 

Battle of Lodi. 65, 66. 

Battle of Liitzen. 253. 

Battle of Marengo, 98, 99, loi. 

Battle of Pyramids, 90. 

Battle of Rivoli, 73. 

Battle of Wagram, 216, 217, 219. 

Battle of Waterloo, 273. 

Bautzen, battle of, 253. 

Bay of Aboukir. see Aboukir Bay. 

Baylen, 198. 

Beauharnais, Alexander de. 328, 

329. 330. 331. 332. 334. 335. 336, 

337, 338. 
Beauharnais, Eugene de, 89. 94, 

179. 216, 222, 331, 332, 336, 340, 

341. 342. 378, 390, 41S, 418, 419. 

421. 422. 43;. 449. 
Beauharnais, Horlense de, 8g, 222. 

332. 337, 340, 372- 373. 378. 390. 

401. 407, 408, 409, 41S, 417. 431. 

433. 449-450- 

caulicu, 63, 65. 75. 

Belle Poulc, 303. 30s. 307, 308. 

Bellerophon,'' 279, 283. 
Benningsen, 173. 
Berlin decree, 193. "95. 233- 
Bemadotle, 47, 171, 233, 235, 255, 



Bernard, Postmaster-general, 135. 
Berthier, Gen., 99, 187. 
Bcrtrand, 309. 318, 320. 
Bonaparte, Caroline, 31, 179. 
Bonaparte, Charles Marie de, 17, 

18, 19. 21, 23, 31. 
Bonaparte, Eliza, 31, 179, 2^7. 
Bonaparte, Jerome. 31. 35» yj* I53. 

154, 179, 181, 183, 320. 
Bonaparte, Joseph, 19, 21, 31, 32, 

89. 179. I97» 198, 302, 320. 
Bonaparte, Louis. 31, 153, 179. 
Bonaparte, Lucicn, 31, 43, 89, 148, 

149, 154, 201. 
Bonaparte, Mme., 43. 
Bonaparte, Mme. Louis, yj^, 374. 
Bonaparte, Pauline, 31, 179, 185, 

391, 392. 
Borghese, Princess, 179. 
Borodino, Battle of. 243. 
Botanical garden at Malmaison, 

366, 367. 
Boulogne, fete of, 155. 156. 
Bourbons of Spain, abdicate, 198. 
Bourrienne, 25, 37-38. 222. 
Boyer, Christine, 43, 89. 
Brenta, 69, 71. 
Bridge of Lodi, 66. 
Brienne, 21, 22, 23, 25, 27, 28, 31. 
Broglie, Due de, Marshal, 35. 
Brunswick, 172. 


" Cabinet noir," 135. 
Cabrera, Island of, 198. 
Cadiz, French fleet at, 198. 
Cadoudal, Georges, 143, 151, 152. 
Cambaceres, 153. 

Campan, Mme., 154, 340, 372, 373. 
Campo Formio,' treaty of, 74. 
Carmes, les, 337, 338, 340. 
Castiglione, 68. 

Catholic Church re-established, 120, 
121, 123, 124. 

Char don. Abbe, 21. 

Charles, Archduke of Austria, 2IJ, 

Charles IV.. King of Spain, 197. 
*' Chemin d'Angleterre," 145. 
Cherbourg, 308. 
Cisalpine Republic, 74. 98. 
Clary. Desiree, 45-46. 
Clary, Julie. 44. 

*' Code Napoleon," 12s 127. 128. 
Colombier. Mile., 29. 
Colombier, Mme., 29. 
** Concordat " signed. 121, 123. 
Conscription, resentment against, 231. 
Constituent Assembly, 334. 
" Continental blockade," 193. 195. 
Coronation of Josephine, 381, 382- 

Coronation of Napoleon, 156. 157, 

159. 160. 
Corsica. 22, 34. 
Corsicans, revolt of. 18. 
Courbevoie, 309. 
Croissv, 54. 55, 336. 


Dantzic, siege of, 173, 177. 
Danube, crossing of by French 

army, 216, 217. 
Davoust. 171, 172. 
d'Abrantes, Duchess, 45. 
d'Enghien, Due, 151. 152. 
d'Orleans, Due, 28-29. 
De Keralio, 25, 26. 
De Molleville, 128. 
de Segur, 156, 199, 200. 
Decree of Berlin, see Berlin decree. 
Dccres, Gen., 62. 
Denmark, 195. 
Denon. 138. 
Dcsaix, 99, loi. 

'* Description de TEgypte," gi. 
" Directory," in regard to Italian 

campaign, 69, 72. 

" Directory," ^^. 
Donau worth, 213. 
Due d'Ei^hien, see d'E 

Duroc, Marshall, 253. 320. 

Ecole militaire, 27. 28. 
i8ih Brumaire. 94, 103. 
Elba. 265. 
F.lj=ee Palace, 423. 

Emigres. II9. I20. 
Essling. 215. 
Eylau, battle of. 173. 

Ferdinand, heir apparent of Spain. 

Finland. 203. 
Fontainebleau, 379. 381. 
Fort Roy ale, 327- 
Fouche. 134- 211. 275, 401, 402. 
French anny, in Italy, 69. 
Friedland, battle of, 173. 175- 
Fulton, Robert, 145. 147- 

Gaete, Due dc, 107. 
"Gardc-Meublt." 203. 
Gaudin, Mon.. 107, 
Gco(troy-Sl.-Hiiairc. 91. 
Girondins. 336. 
Goethe, 203. 

■■ Grand army," 237. 239, 247. 
Great Britain, decree against, 193, 



Hesse-Casscl, i77- 
Hippoiyte, Charles. 94. 354. 
Hoche, Gen., 337. 340. 
Hohenlinden, lattle of. 103. 
Holland. King of. 179. 183. 233- 
Hotel des Invalidcs. 311, 313, 3iS. 
317, 318, 319- 320. 

Institute of Egypt, 91. 

Island of Cabrera, see Cabrera, Is- 

Italian campaign, 61. 


Jena, battle of. 171, 172. 

John, Archduke, 216. 

Joinville, Prince de, 295, 303, 306, 
307. 309. 313, 317. 318. 

Jomini, 256. 

Josephine, Vicomtesse de Beauhar- 
nais, 54-55. 57. 

Josephine, notre dame des victoires, 

Josephine, in Italy. 86, 87. 

Josephine. Empress. 159, 160. 

Josephine, divorced, 221, 222, ^23. 

Josephine, at M.-ilmai-un. 225, 

Josephine, at Evreux. 33S. 

Josephine, childhood, 326, 327. 

Josephine, at school, 327. 

Josephine, goes to France with her 
father 330. 

Josepltine, married Alexander de 
Seauhamais, 331. 

Jojitphinc, divorced from Alexan- 
der de Beauharnai>. ,^32. 

Josephine, 111 Paris, m-^^. 

Josephine, imprisoned in les Carmes, 
337. 338. 

Josephine, at functions given by 
Directory. 340. 

Josephine, meets Napoleon, 342. 

Josephine, courted by Napoleon, 

Josephine, feelings towards Napo- 
leon, 343-345- 

Josephine. married to Napoleon, 

Josephine, goes to Italy. 347-349. 

Josephine, at Milan, 347-349. 3SI- 

Paris from 


Josephine, Napoleon's letters 
348, 349- 

Italy. 353. 
Josephine, attitude towards the 

Bonapartes, 354-355- 
Josephine, buys Malmaison. 355. 
Josephine, letter to Napoleon, 356- 

Jusephine, as wife of First Con- 
sul, 361-363. 365, 
Josephine, her appearance, 36^. 

Josephine, fondness for flowers and 

dogs. 366. 367. 
Josephine, at St. Cloud. 3?S. 376, 
Josephine, proclaimed Empress. 

Josephine, religious marriage to 

Napoleon. 381. 
Josephine, journey through Italy a^ 

Empress. 388, 389. 
Josephine, graciousness to others. 

392- 393- 
Josephinc. fondness for her loilcl, 

Josephine. her jewels, 39?. 398. 
Josephine, crowned Empres,';, 3R1- 

Josephine, hears rumors of divorce. 

401, 406, 414- 
Josephinc, at Bayonne, 404. 405. 
Josephine, at Plombieres, 4Qfj. 41 [. 
Josephine, told of the divorce. 417. 

Josephine, officially divorced, 419- 



Josephine, r. 

after divorce. 422-426. 

Josephine, at Navarre. 427, 428. 

Josephine, at Malmaison, 430, 

Josephine, fondness for her grand- 
children, 437. 

Josephine, position in France. 440. 

Josephine, learns of Napoleon's ab- 
dication, 446. 

Josephine, and the Emperor Alex- 
ander, 446. 447, 

Josephine, dies at Malmaison, 448, 

Joubertlion. Mme.. 154. 

Junot. 41, 42, 45, 61, 196, 198. 34?. 

Kellermann. 77. 

■ King of Rome," 2x3, 238, 235, 261, 

266, 435. 
Konigsberg, 173. 

La Favorita. battle of, 73. 

Landgrafenberg, 171. 

Lannes. 155, 207. 215, 

La.CL^.. A<. 285. 303- 

" La Vendee." 95. 

Le Brun. 153. 

Loclcrt, Mine., 89. 

Lefebvre. Mar.'hall. 173. 

" Legion of Honor," 125. 

" Legitimists." 302. 

Leipsic. 256. 

Ligny. 273- 

" Little Corporal." 78, 

Lobau. Island of, 213. 215, 216. 

Lodi, 65, 66, 

Lodi, bridge of, 78. 83. 

Lombard Republic, 66. 

Lonato, 68, 

Long wood. 285-287. 

Louis XVIIl., 269. 

Louis Phili|i]n', i')<,. 300, 302, 318. 

Louise. Queen of Prussia. 177. 

Louisiana, sale of, 147, 148. 

Lowe, Sir Hudson, 285-287. 

Lyons. 269. 

Lucque=. Princess of. 179. 

Luncville. treaty of. 103. 

Liitzen, battle of, 253, 


" Madame Mere," i8, 153, 366. 
Magdeburg, 177. 
Maintenon. Mme. de, 27. 
llalet conspiracy, 248. 
Malraaison. 223. 225. 275, 355. 365- 

367. 3'59-370. 37A-37S, 4". 432- 

426. 428, 449-4SO- 
Manlua, sieqe of, 66-69, 7i. 73- 
Marboeuf Count de, 19. 23. 29- 
Marbot, 305- 

Marcngo, liallle of, 98-99, lOi. 
Marie Louise, 17. 37- 225, 227-228. 

366, 271. 289. 
Marmonc. 62, 263. 
Marrac. castle of, 404. 40S- 
Martinique, sland o{, 325, 326. 
Masson, 338. 
Mecklcnbure-Schwerin, Prince of, 

Melas, Gen., 97. 98. 
Meneval. 222, 223. 
Metiemich, 253, 255. 
Mincio, 66. 
Minim Brothers, 22. 
Mion-Desplaccs. Mile., 31. 
Moldavia, 203. 
Moncey Marshal, 317. 
Monge. 91. 
Mont Cenis, 160. 
Montenotte, 6y 
Moniesson, Mme, de. 28-29. 
Monlholon, 287. 
Montmorency, Mnie. de. 200. 
Moreau, Gen., 95, 151-152. 25s, 256. 
Moscow. 243, 245. 
Muiron. Col., 78. 
Murat, 197. 212. *S8. 
Murat, Mme., 377. 
Museum of Paris, 81. 

Naples, King of. 179. 181, 258. 
Napoleon, as a youth, 18, 19. 

£X 48 1 

Napoleon, at school, 2t, 22, 23, 25, 


Napoleon, First Consul, 29. 

Napoleon, second lieutenant at Val- 
ence, 28-29. 

Napoleon, literary projects, 33, 34. 

Napoleon, in regard to finances, 35, 

Napolcon, in Paris, 38, 39. 

Napoleon, command. Second Regi- 
ment of Artillery. 41. 

Napoleon, prisoner, 1794, 44. 

Napoleon, Committee of Public 
Safety, 48. 

Napoleon. General in chief of army 

of in 

I 51- 

Napoleon, defends the Tuileries, 48, 

Napoleon, in salon of Barras and 

Mme. Taltien, 54. 
Napoleon, courtship and marriage, 

57. 58. 
Napoleon, love letters. 58. 59. 
Napoleon, General, army of Italy, 

Napoleon, speech to his soldiers, 

Napoleon, at Bridge of Lodi, 65, 

Napoleon, enters Milan, 66. 
Napoleon, concludes peace with Na- 
ples. 67. 
Napoleon, at Lonato. 68. 
Napoleon, defeats Wurmser, 69. 
Napoleon, letter to Directory, 69, 

Napoleon, Rivoli, '3. 
Napoleon, signs with Pope treaty of 

Tolentino. 73. 
Napoleon, signs treaty of Campo 

Formio, 74. 
Napoleon, rules of warfare. 75. 
Napoleon, fertility in stratagem, 7S> 


, belief in signs. 83. 

, letters to Josephine, 85. 

482 mi 

Napoleon, answer to Directory, 77. 
Napoleon, soldiers' adoration of, 77. 

Napoleon, addresses to soldiers, 79, 


86, 87. 

Napoleon, returns to Paris from 
Italy, 89- 

Napoleon. commander in chief. 
army of Egypt. 90. 

Napoleon, in Egypt, 90. 91, 93. 

Napoleon, failure of Syrian expe- 
dition. 9J. 

Napoleon, returns lo Paris from 
Egypt. 9,1. 94. 

Napoleon. Dictator of France. 94. 

Napoleon, crossing the Alps. 97. 

Napoleon, addresses his soldiers, 

Napoleon, at Marengo. 98. 

Napoleon. First Consul. 105. 106. 

Napoleon, in regard to taxes, 108. 
109, no. 

Napoleon, his policy of protection. 
no, III. 
■ Napoleon. itnprovcmenlB made in 
Paris, 113. 

Napoleon, his vast industrial 
achievements 113-115, n?. 

Napoleon, his anmc-ly to the Emi- 
gres, 119. 120. 

Napoleon, reestablishes the Cath- 
olic Church in France, 120, 121, 

I2J. 124. 

Napoleon, establishes school. 124. 

Napoleon, codification of the laws. 

125. 127. 128. 
Napoleon, preparations for war 

against England. 144, 145. 
Napoleon, sells Louisiana. 147, 148. 

Napoleon. First Consul, plot against 

bis life, 151. 
Napoleon, Emperor, 153. 
Napoleon. Emperor, in matters of 

etiquette, 155. 
Napoleon. Emperor, crowned at 

Notre Dame, 156, 157. 159. 160. 
Napoleon, addresses to his soldiers, 

Napoleon. King of Italy. 160. 
Napoleon, marches against the Aus- 

trians and Russians. 164. 165. 167. 
Napoleon, at Auslerlitz, 167, iSSr 

Napoleon, at Jena. 171. 
Napoleon. Museum of Paris, 172. 
Napoleon, at battle of Jena. 172. 
Napoleon, at battle of Eylau, 173. 
Napoleon, at battle of Friedland, 

173. 175- 
Napoleon, at Tilsit. 175. 
Napoleon, treaty of Tilsit. 177, 178, 
Napoleon, advice to his brothers. 

179. iSi. 183, 
Napoleon, hatred against England. 

Napoleon, policy towards Great 

Britain. 193. 195, 
Napoleon, altitude towards Spain. 

197. 198. 
Napoleon, founds a new nobility. 


o reconcile Lucien, 

Napoleon, meets Alexander I. at 

Erfurt, 203. 
Napoleon, Spanish campaign, 205, 

206, 207, 209- 
Napoleon, charge against Talley- 

Napoleon, at battle of Wagram, 

2i6. 217, 2ig. 
Napoleon, divorces Josephine, 221, 

222, 223. 



Napoleon, marries Marie Louise 

(by proxy), 225. 
Napoleon, imprisons the Pope. 229. 
Napoleon, preparing for Russian 

campaign, 237. 
Napoleon, at Moscow, 243. 
Napoleon, retreat from Moscow, 

243, 245. 247. 
Napoleon, campaign of 1813, 253. 

255, 256. 257. 
Napoleon, campaign of 1814, 258, 

261, 262. 
Napoleon, encamped at Fontaine- 

bleau, 262. 
Napoleon, abdication at Fontaine- 

bleau, 263. 
Napoleon, at Elba, 265, 266. 267. 
Napoleon, returns from Elba, 267. 

2(5^ 271. 
Napoleon, his happiest period, 271. 
Napoleon, at Waterloo, 2^^^ 275. 
Napoleon, abdicates anew, 275. 
Napoleon, plan to escape to United 

States, 275, 276, 277. 
Napoleon, gives himself up to 

English, T^jf^ 
Napoleon, at St. Helena, 283, 285, 

286, 287. 
Napoleon, dies at St. Helena, 287. 

Napoleon, loved by his men, 293. 
Napoleon, body brought back to 

France. 305, 306, 307, 308, 309, 

311. 312. 
Napoleon, funeral in Paris. 312- 

315. 317, 318. 
Napoleon. Charles, 374, 376, m, 

Napoleon. Louis, 401, 433. 
National Assembly, 34. 
" Nautilus," Fulton's diving boat, 

Navarre, 423, 427. 428. 433. 435. 


Nelson, Lord, 91. 

Newspaper criticisms on Napo- 
leon's return from Elba, 269. 
Ney, Marshal, 269. 
" Northumberland," 283. 
Notre Dame, 379. 
Notre dame des victoires, 85, 347. 

O'Connell, 299, 300. 
Olmiitz, 166. 167. 
O'Meara, 285. 
** Opera plot." 133. 134. 
" Orleanists," 302. 
Orleans, Duke of, see d'Orleans, 

Paisiello, 141. 

Palmerston, Lord, 299, 300. 
Panthemont, Abbey de, zzz, 340. 
Paoli, Pascal, 18. 19, 22. 
Papal States, 67, ^Z- 
Paris capitulates, 261. 
Patterson, Miss Elizabeth, 154. 
Permon, Mme., 53. 
Pcrmons, 27, 28, 51. 
Pichegru, 151, 152. 
Pius VI L a prisoner. 229. 
Placentia, 65. 
Plombieres. 353. 409. 411. 
Plot of the 3rd Nivose. 133. 134. 
Plymouth, 279. 
Po, crossing of the, 65. 
Poland. 172, 173. 
Ponte-Corvo, Prince of, 235. 
Pontecoulant, Monsieur de. 51. 
Portugal, 195, 198. 
Portugal divided, 196. 
Portugal forced to close ports, 196- 
Presburg, treaty of. 169. 
Press censorship, 135. 
Provera. 72. y^ 
Prussia, King of, 175. 
I Pyramids, battle of, 90. 



Quasdanovich, 67-68. 
*• Quatrc Bras," 273. 

Rambouillet, 403. 
Ramolino, Laetitia. 17, 18. 
Ratisbonne, 213. 
Raynal. Abbe, 33, 
Remusat, Count de, 303. 
Remusat, Mme. de, 154. 155. 362, 

392, 424. 
Renaudin, Mon., 328. 
Renaudin. Mme., 328. 329, 330. 331, 

Reuil, 449. 

Revolution of 1789. 34. 

R voli, battle of. 7^^. 

Robespierre, the elder, 43-44. 

Robespierre, the younger, 43, 339. 

Rochefoucauld, Due de la, 329, 

Rouen, 308. 

Russia, Emperor of. 201, 203. 


Saale, 171. 

St. Cloud. 223, 374. 375. 

St. Cyr. 31. 

Saint-Germain, Comtc de. 35. 

St. Helena. 283, 285, 286. 

St. Pierre, town of, 325. 

Salon. 138. 

Saragossa, siege of. 206. 207, 209. 

Sardinians, sue for peace, 64. 

Sannois, Mile. Rose-Claire des Ver- 
gers de, 326. 

Savon a, 229. 

Saxony, King of. 177. 

Schonbrunn, Castle of, 216. 

School of Fine Arts. 28. 

Second revolution. 37-38. 

Segur, Mon. de, see de Segur, 

Serbelloni. Due de, 348, 349, 351. 

Sieyes, Abbe, 105, 106. 

Smolensk, 241, 243, 247. 

Soult. 168. 

Spain, Government of, 197, 198. 

Spain, King of, 196, 198, 257. 

Spanish campaign. 205. 206, 207, 209. 

Stael, Mme. de, 135, 137, 431. 

Sweden, 233. 

Syrian expedition. 93. 

Tagliamento, crossed, 74. 
Talleyrand, 211, 212, 262, 275, 301, 

399. 401. 
Tallien, Mme., 54, 55, 338, 339, 

340. 342. 347. 358. 
Talma. 369. 
Tascher de la Pagerie, Joseph, 325, 

326, 328. 330. 
Theatre Fran^ais, 203. 
Thiers, Mon., 300, 301. 
Tilsit, treaty of. 175, 177, 178. 
Tolentino, treaty of, 73. 
Toulon. 41. 

Treaty of Amiens, 103. 
Treaty of Campo Formio, 74, 
Treaty of Luneville. 103. 
Treaty of Presburg, 169. 
Treaty of Tilsit, 175, 177, 178. 
Treaty of Tolentino, 73. 
Trieste, 219. 
Trois Ilets, 325. 326, 327. 
Tuileries, 381. 


Ulm, capitulati n of, 165. 

United States not allowed to re- 
main neutral, 196. 
Unnatural alliance," 235. 


Valence. 29. 
Verona. 71-73. 



Volta, 138, 139. 
Vienna, 213, 216. 
Vimciro, 198. 
Visconti, Mme. dc, 187. 
Vittoria, 198. 


Wagram, Austrians' position, 216. 
Wagram, battle of, 216, 217, 219. 
Walewski, Mme., 401, 403, 404, 

Wallachia, 203. 
Warsaw, 177. 
Waterloo, battle of, 273. 
Westphalia, 177. 
Westphalia, King of, 179. 
Wieland, 203. 
Wilder, S. V. S., 276. 
William, Prince of Prussia, 203. 
Wurmser, Gen., 67, 68, 69, 72. 
Wurmser surrenders, y^. 


I ! 



3 9015 02610 2957